CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine
by Silvestria
Summary: Follows The Unbreakable Link. Cassandra is Harry and Hermione's daughter and she is determined to be normal. Fate, however, and the consequences of Voldemort's defeat years ago will catch up with her and her family who are hiding terrible secrets. Very AU
1. Prologue

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(Prologue/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

_'And God said, Let there be light; and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.' _(Genesis, Chapter 1) **

Prologue

**

It is a truth not quite as universally acknowledged as such truths should be, that a married couple, in possession of a large fortune and a new baby should not be in want of publicity. 

So badly is this truth established in the hearts and minds of the reporter clan, that when Cassandra Elizabeth Potter was born on Wednesday the first of April 2009 every single wizarding newspaper in the country (and out of it) thought it their business to announce the new arrival. 

The _Daily Prophet_ modestly put a little paragraph on page three; _Teen Witch_ mentioned it in passing but seemed more interested in a quiz (prize- Harry Potter's autograph) to guess the baby's hair colour. _Witch Weekly_ included an interview with Lady Potter which _she_ certainly didn't remember doing. She launched a law suit against them and six months of bloody legal battle later, was able to add 100 more galleons to the already overflowing Potter family coffers. 

_The Comet_, a new tabloid, overdid itself. It allowed the birth to monopolize the front page complete with blown up picture of the child. It was not known how the picture came to be there at all- someone had certainly been 'beetling' around. Oddly enough, _The Comet's_ reporter of the event seemed to have disappered and the Potters were seen to go past the offices whenever they happened to pass with very triumphant faces for some time afterwards. 

It was, even at that stage, possible to see which parent Cassandra resembled the most. She was quite small, with a determined chin and bright green eyes. She didn't cry much. 

She wasn't actually christened until the year after, when she had a joint christening with Jack and Jill Weasley, who were born two months later. (It was a fine event- Katie Weasley provided the food, her Ladyship the speeches, Professor Shortstraw the clever Latin quotations and Fred and George the jokes.) 

Neither the Potters nor the Weasleys had managed to meet anyone who wasn't completely overjoyed at Cassandra's birth. There were some though... Professor Snape for one and Draco Malfoy to quote another. 

So unhappy was this latter that he quite turned the milk sour in the Malfoy Manor dairies. He didn't see why, when the births of his son Nero and his daughter Emilia didn't arouse any interest whatsoever in the magical world, that Cassandra's should. After all, reasoned Malfoy incorrectly, the Potters weren't richer than the Malfoys, they didn't have a bigger house or car or job, did they?. And Harry didn't have a pretty, dark, meek, French wife who didn't answer back, did he? So why the fuss? 

It is therefore possible to imagine how displeased he was when he first heard the news for, upon entering the parlour of Malfoy Manor, he caught sight of his pretty, dark, meek, French wife who didn't answer back, reading page three of the _Daily Prophet_ with a slight smile on her face. 

"Ah, Draco!" she cried when she saw him, "have you read the paper today, mon cher? Such news!" 

"Really?" he said without interest. "Have the Parkinson's invested in some Malfoy co-operation shares at last?" 

"Mais _non_! The dear Lady Potter! I am so happy for her!" 

"What's happened to her? Has she died?" 

"No of course not!" 

"Pity. And don't call her 'dear', Elise. You've never met her. I have, and I'm telling you- she's a right b****." He struck his wand hard on the table. 

Elise Malfoy bowed her head and nodded, "I am sorry, Draco. Merely, she has had the child, and I'm very happy for her. I mean- for anyone who has had a child." 

"What? She had it? Is it very sickly? Likely to pop off soon? Damn her." 

"Oh _no_! She is extremely healthy." 

"_She_? What? We're to be plagued by a little Potter girl scampering on the front page of _Teen Witch_ forever more, are we? Does she come complete with the usual Potter attributes?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Oh use your minute brain, Elise! Scar, black hair as neat as a pig-pen, round glasses, brain like a leaky water bucket and eyes the colour of overcooked spinach?" 

Elise laughed, "she has no scar, of course, Draco. No hair either as yet or glasses and I can't tell what her brain's like. But she does have green eyes." 

"She would." He leaned over and snatched the newspaper from his wife's hands, tossed it carelessly into the fire and strode towards the door. "Don't let me catch you reading such junk again, Elise." 

"No, Draco." She looked down at her hands. 

"_We_ are not interested in the tedious doings of Family Snob. It wouldn't bother _us_ if the Potters had sextuplets. _I_ certainly don't care." Just at the door he turned round and said, "I say Elise, what did you say her name was? And when was she born?" 

"Her name is Cassandra, and she was born yesterday, the first of April." 

A smile played on Draco's stern features, "What on earth possessed them to call her _that_?" The smile broadened into a laugh, "She has _no_ chance. Doomed from the start." 

  
~~~

_Thank you for reading and reviewing 'The Unbreakable Link'. This is a next generation story, which is currently Work in Progress. I hope you enjoy it and review constantly! Go to for news and updates. _

Silvestria 


	2. I

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(1/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter I 

_ 'Why should I not publish my diary? I have often seen reminiscences of people I have never heard of, and I fail to see- because I do not happen to be a 'Somebody'- why my diary should not be interesting.'_ (Grossmith- 'The Diary of a Nobody') 

_** The Book**_

Tuesday July 21st 2020, 5:57:42 p.m. An apple tree, Two Towers 

I have decided, upon reaching eleven years of age, that it would be a good idea to keep a record of my pursuits. Not, as Xanthia would undoubtably say, my _trivial pursuits_(!), but of my daily routine which I have always found extremely interesting. I am sure, at least I hope, that others will also. 

It is amazing the number of quotes there are about diaries when I come to actually look for them! Here is another I particularly like, from _The Importance of Being Ernest_ by Oscar Wilde. (Oh, I do like that play!) 

_'You see, it is simply a very young girl's record of her own thoughts and impressions and consequently meant for publication.'_

I'm not sure if I don't actually like that quote better than the one from Grossmith. After all, I'm not a Nobody. I'm a Somebody. You see, I'm Cassandra Potter. Cassandra Elizabeth Potter to be more exact. 

You should have heard of me. If you have not, I am very suprised. Well, at least you'll be familiar with my surname. In every wizard's mind the name Potter should ring some sort of bell. 

My father is very famous. He is Harry Potter and he has defeated the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort several times. (_I_ am not afraid of saying his name. I think, after he has been dead quite a few years (since before I was born) that it is _absolutely ridiculous_ for grown people to go around muttering 'You-Know-Who' and shaking their gossiping old heads like there's been a death or something. Xanthia once said to me that whenever someone says 'You-Know-Who' to her she always replies that she _doesn't_ know who. She detests artifice of any kind. 

My mother is quite well known too, though I believe not so much for what she _has_ done than for what she is. She is very politically involved. She is head of a department and a member of the governing commitee. She's also the chief Hogwart's school govenor. She makes sure she has a say in everything and people like her very much. 

After the fall of Voldemort she was one of the first to start helping to rebuild the country. She started with Dr. Longbottom of St. Mungo's the 'St. Mungo Charity Trust' specially designed to help the families of those who have in some way been sticken by Lord Voldemort. 

My father was knighted by Queen Elizabeth some years ago for his behaviour respecting Voldemort. This actually makes my parents Sir Harry and Lady Potter. 

The queen also gave Father a large country house in Derbyshire, near the small village of Brassington (near Buxton). It is a very fine neo-classical building made out of white stone. My parents called it Two Towers, though why I can't imagine as there isn't anything that looks remotely like a tower anywhere near it, though there're plenty of pillars. (It was originally called 'Brassington Hall' which Ron Weasley says he prefers. I rather like the name my parents gave it. It adds an air of mystery to it.) 

I'm writing this in one of our apple trees near the back of the house and near the quiddich pitch. It's very quiet. Mother is in her office doing business. The last I saw of her, she was having a loud argument in French with Monsieur du Clé, the headmaster of Bauxbatons on the telephone. You could hear it _everywhere_. She seems to have shut the French windows now. 

My father and Ron Weasley are testing out a broomstick on the pitch. My father works with a new company, Lightening Bolt. His job is testing new makes for speed, agility, balance etc. before they go on the market. The company's latest release is the Tornado 99, a competitor for the Nimbus XXX. 

I'd like a Tornado. Father says I can have my own broom when I'm a second year. First years aren't allowed to have brooms unfortunately. I think, if I'm anything like my father that I'll be rather good at quidditch. I'd like to be a seeker like him. 

I hope my Hogwarts letter arrives soon. I can't wait to get all my stuff. Especially my wand. I've never been looking forward to something so much! I'll be actually able to do magic! At last I'll be able to perform those spells I've been learning the theory of for the last ten years or so! I'll be able to wave a peice of wood, and something will happen! Magic is really a miracle. 

It's Father's birthday in just over a week. Mother and I are taking him to an Appleby Arrows versus Chudley Cannons quidditch game with the Ron Weasleys, who are all firm Cannons fans. Father and I are just as fanatical about the Arrows and Mother says she is neutral, but I can tell she is secetly betraying the Potter idea and supports the Cannons. It should be an _interesting_ game. (Of course, the Arrows will quite obviously win!) Actually, I should think of getting Father a present. Can't think of anything at the moment. Mother'll have an idea... 

Well, I hear her calling. I suppose it's supper time. I think I'll write in this diary (well, it's only a couple of pieces of parchment at the moment) every day. I shan't miss a single day. 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

_ Wednesday July 22st 2020, 3:12:34 p.m. bedroom, Two Towers_

Father's bday present??!! 

No Hogwarts letter. 

Oboe practise? Violin practise? 

_ Friday July 24st 2020, 11:21:56 a.m., sitting room, two Towers_

Um... will chocolates do?? Or a book on something? 

Where's that letter? 

Will definitely practise one hour solid each instrument tomorrow. 

_Wednesday July 31st 2020, 7:24:39 p.m., bedroom, Two Towers_

An _excellent_ day. The quidditch match was great fun (we were in prime boxes). Naturally the Appleby Arrows won- 260 to 80! Their seeker's amazing! My hero! 

I had a bet with Jack and Jill- now they owe me five sickles of pocket money! (Ha- knew we'd win!) 

Martin accidentally trod on his glasses on the way into the stadium and was in a foul mood all day. He was even reading one of his textbooks during the picnic. I like reading, but I wouldn't read during a birthday party. Jack and Jill and I teased him mercilessly about it until Mother got really angry. Martin's excuse was that he had too much school work to do. (He's going to be in third year like his cousin, Xanthia.) To this Mrs. Weasley asked him if he couldn't study at any time except during Harry's birthday party, and he was obliged to put _Intermediate Potions_ down and join in the festivities. 

I was very pleased to hear that Jack and Jill haven't received their Hogwarts letter either. However, when we returned to Two Towers in the late afternoon, guess what I saw on the dining room table? The Hogwarts letter! 

The twins and I opened it happily. I shall copy it here so this momentuous event is not simply lost to posterity. 

_

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY 

_

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall 

Dear Miss Potter, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (I almost screamed with joy here! I'm accepted to the best school in the world!)_ Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. 

Yours sincerely, 

James Harker 

Deputy Headmaster 

Immediately Father, beaming like the proverbial Cheshire cat, grabbed a piece of parchment and scribbled, _Dear Professor McGonagall, have received Hogwarts letter. Cassie will be there on Platform 9 3/4 on Sept. 1st. Love Harry_. 

Mother got herself into a fluster. "Josie!" she cried. Nothing happened. Mother sighed and called louder and snapped her fingers inefectually, "Drat that phoenix! Never here when we want him!" The twins, suddenly understanding what was happening, decided to leave the room. (They're rather scared of our phoenix.) 

Suddenly there was a pop and Josie appeared on a candlestick surveying us with angry, beady black eyes. He ruffled his feathers. Josie is short for Josef Stalin the Second, the full name of our very bad tempered phoenix. We call him Josie for short (or when we're angry with him.) 

Father gingerly attached the letter to Josie's leg and away he disappeared. The advantage of using a phoenix is that they can deliver a message anywhere in no time at all. We're very lucky to have a phoenix at all, so we're not complaining if he can be a little stroppy. 

Mother then said that she'd take me and the twins to Diagon Alley tomorrow to get our books and equipment. Then more guests arrived (mainly Weasleys I have to say) and we had a full scale party. Must get early night in anticipation of tomorrow. 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

_Thursday August 1st 2020, 8:12:45 p.m. apple tree_

Odd day. It had its highs and its lows. But the main thing is- _I don't have a wand!!!_ And I'm very angry and upset. Anyway, I'll start at the beginning. 

We (Mother, Jack, Jill and I) arrived in Diagon Alley at about eleven o'clock and we headed straight for Madam Malkin's robe shop. It isn't actually owned by Madam Malkin anymore, but the name's the same. 

In the shop we found a scowling Xanthia being measured for new robes. She was complaining loudly that a) she didn't need new robes and b) that the tape measure was tickling her. Her mother, Catherine Weasley my godmother, was busily apologising to the shop keeper. A glint in her eyes made me think that Xanthia was in for a lecture afterwards. Our entrance made quite a welcome distraction. 

The twins and I were measured and fitted and Xanthia entertained us with tales of how the robes would suddenly split in the middle of a quidditch match infront of all the school. Xanthia is keeper on the Gryffindor Junior quidditch team. (For second and third years.) 

Catherine looked really annoyed and told Xanthia that she didn't know what she was talking about. 

"And what do you know about it?" 

"I happen to teach at that school," replied Catherine very tartly. 

Xanthia slapped her forehead, "Gosh! So you do! I say, I quite forgot! Well I never! One learns new things every day!" She winked a me. 

Catherine turned to my mother and started a low conversation in Spanish. They like to talk different languages to each other- keep them ticking over says my mother. The only problem is that I don't understand what they're saying. The only Spanish I know is 'Me llamo Cassandra,' which I think everybody knows. Mother says she'll teach me Spanish when she's got a bit more time. At this rate, that'll be never. 

After we had bought our robes we went to get our books and then to get our cauldrons and scales. Then the potions ingredients. Mother whisked us through all the shops very quickly, hardly leaving us any time to browse. I would've especially liked to spend more time in Flourish and Blotts. There were some new releases that I very much want to read. Mother said to get them from the Hogwarts library, which is apparently second to none. 

We forced her to stop outside the broomstick shop though, while we drooled over the Tornadoes and Nimbuses. 

"You're not getting a broomstick, Cassandra, and that's final," she said. 

"Why not?" asked Jill. 

"Didn't you read your letter? _First years aren't allowed their broomsticks_." 

"But I want to fly," I complained. 

"This year you'll keep your feet safely on the ground." 

"But Father had a broomstick when he was in first year. He told me." 

"Harry is an exceptionally good flyer. There were concessions made." 

"So? I intend to be a very good flyer. Can't there be concessions made for me?" 

"Oh come on, Cassie," cried Jack uncomfortably. I bit my lip but didn't say anything. Mother continued seriously, "Now, Cassandra, I would like you to promise me that you don't get up to anything at Hogwarts." 

"Up to what exactly?" 

"Well," she paused, worried, "no sneaking out for one. No tricks, no messing about. You have a reputation to live up to!" 

"A reputation? Mother!" 

"Yes, Cassandra. You are my daughter and you are representing the Potter family at Hogwarts. I expect you to be on your best behaviour at all times." 

"But Mother, I don't see why you're worried. Why would I _sneak out_? I'm going to Hogwarts to learn magic not to mess about." 

Mother nodded darkly, "That's what you think. That's what I thought. And even before you're aware of it, bang! You're caught up in such businesses as you'd never thought were possible! Hogwarts has that effect on people." She shuddered, "It's the best thing that ever happened to me of course, but- oh just take care, Cassandra." 

She put her arm round me and dropped a kiss on my head. I was stunned. This was the first time my mother had even mentioned her time at Hogwarts. Jack and Jill's parents are always willing to talk about Hogwarts. (Ron's tales always seem to end as accounts of his own bravery in the face of some far-fetched monster.) As for my parents... I have a memory of my father sending me to sleep when I was very young with tales that are supposedly real of dragons, magic mirrors that show fondest wishes, midnight duels, a ceiling like a swirling sky... Just like out of a book! 

"Well, shall we get our wands?" eventually suggested Jack. 

"Yes, come on then," said Mother vaguely. 

We headed for Mr. Ollivander's wand shop at the very end of Diagon Alley. It was a dark shop, with its blinds pulled down. I could see my mother's hand trembling as she pushed open the door. I wondered what she was so anxious about. 

There were some people at the desk, buying a wand. There was a very small woman with large grey eyes and curly brown hair. She was with a girl I supposed to be her daughter, a tall girl with an insolent, pointed face and blond hair. I felt my mother's hand stiffen on my shoulder. She sat down on a dusty chair by the window, folded her cloak round her knees and placed her handbag on her lap. The twins and I stayed standing. 

As the woman and her daughter came past us, Mother stood up and said cooly, "Mrs. Malfoy," clearly not as a wish to talk to that woman, but to let us know that these were Malfoys. I'd never seen one before, and they look just as horrible as I've been told. 

The woman looked up at Mother, but managed at the same time to bend down, making herself look even lower than she already was. Reminded me oddly of Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine as Mother can sometimes have a very 'Lady Catherine' look about her. She was applying it in strong amounts then. 

Mrs. Malfoy almost bowed and said in a slightly foreign accent, "I am very happy, your Ladyship." Mother inclined her head. Mrs. Malfoy looked expectantly at her daughter who stared very hard at us and then turned up her nose and swept from the shop. Mrs. Malfoy looked after her and whispered, "Good-day, Lady Potter," and quickly followed her daughter. 

Mother relaxed her pose and sat down and smoothed her cuffs as if nothing had happened, which when I come to think of it, nothing really had. 

Mr. Ollivander then appeared from behind the counter. He was very old, possible the oldest man I've ever seen and he had very odd eyes. He looked from me to my mother and whispered, "Ah, I wonder'd when I'd see you again. Lady Potter now, aren't you?" 

My mother nodded and smiled very nervously. 

"Yes, a good choice. A good choice... you're a very lucky woman, I must say, _Lady Potter_." 

Mother smiled even more and looked dreadfully unhappy. 

"Twelve and a half inches, holly, one piece dragon heartstring... Am I right?" 

Mother nodded. 

"Quite straight, very good for duelling?" 

"Oh yes!" 

"Yes, a powerful wand. Could have been dangerous in the wrong hands... not in yours I am glad to say, _LadyPotter_." 

I wished he would stop stressing my mother's name, it was making me nervous and I could see Jack and Jill were too. He turned to us and said, "Well, Mr. Weasley, shall I measure you first?" 

Jack looked at us and grinned nervously and started to get himself measured. When this was over (they had measured almost every part of his body), Mr. Ollivander stood on a rickety step ladder and pulled different boxes off the shelves. It took Jack ten minutes to find a perfect wand. It was seven inches, ash, quite springy, with a core of a doxy muscle. Quite unusual, Mr. Ollivander said, and good for transfiguration. 

Jill went next and was soon swinging a bag with a box in it containing a wand, eight and a quarter inches long, beech, with one unicorn hair, good for common charms. 

He then approached me and stared at me out of his big eyes. "Ah, another Potter, destined for just as great things as her father. Yes... a unique person in an unique situation." He started measuring me, pulling boxes out all the time. 

I have to say, I felt pretty stupid waving all these wands around with everyone watching me. Occasionally Mr. Ollivander would speak to me, or more, mutter to himself about me, "Well, it'll be interesting to see how you turn out, Miss Potter, which way you go. Yes, very interesting..." 

After fifteen minutes of futile waving, my arm ached, and the twins were fidgeting. 

After twenty minutes, I was feeling worried, Mother's knuckles were white, as she clasped and unclasped her bag. The pile of wands on the floor was now greater than those left on the shelves. 

After thirty minutes Mr. Ollivander stopped, and turning to Mother, said, "Lady Potter, I have exhausted my stock. None of my wands seem to suit Miss Cassandra." 

Mother stood up, and swayed as the blood returned to her circulation (she had been sitting completely still for half and hour), "Inconceivable! This will not be borne! Mr. Ollivander, surely this is not your _complete_ supply?" 

He nodded, "I am afraid so, Ma'am, though perhaps this _could have been anticipated_..." 

Mother's 'Lady Catherine de Bourgh' pose wilted before my very eyes, and for the first time in my life, something was wrong. "Mr. Ollivander," said my mother quietly, "I insist that you find my daughter a wand." 

He spread his hands open, "Are you sure, your Ladyship, that-" 

"All I want is for you to find Cassandra a wand, which you will do now!" hissed Mother in a tone that was not to be disobeyed. 

He disappeared into a back room and Mother sat down. Jack and Jill shrugged their shoulders at me, but I felt scared. Something had happened, I wasn't sure what, and it was wrong. All that Mr. Ollivander had said was wrong. What did he mean, _which way I turn out_? No-one had ever found me 'interesting' before, and I'm not sure I liked it. And my Mother's behaviour had been jumpy all day. Something was wrong and I didn't think it should be. After all, what could be wrong? 

Mr. Ollivander returned from the back room. "I think I have found a suitable wand for you, Miss Potter. However, I do not stock it. You must wait to go to Hogwarts to receive it." 

My heart sank, how could I wait till Hogwarts to try magic? I know I'm not allowed to do magic in the holidays, but I can't wait to try a few simple charms. No-one would mind, surely. And now Jack and Jill and everyone have wands and I don't. I hated Mr. Ollivander and his large eyes, and his stupid predictions (after all, everyone knows that prophecies are all a load of rubbish), and his dark, claustrophobic shop. It was all a set-up to make me feel uncomfortable. I scowled. 

Mother was saying something, "And so, what is in this wand, Mr. Ollivander?" 

Mr. Ollivander stared hard at me before replying, but I wasn't afraid now I knew it was all a con. How Mother could be taking it so seriously was beyond me. "It is ten and three quarters inches long. It is made of ancient oak and it contains one piece of a lion's mane." 

"But a lion isn't a magic creature and, according to _Wands, the Ins and Outs_, the core of a wand is always from a magical creature," I said as snobbishly as I could. 

Mr. Ollivander laughed softly and I scowled even more, "Ah!" said he, "_This_ lion was a very magical creature, Miss Potter, never fear. A very powerful, very powerful wand, Miss Potter..." 

"Thank-you. Well, shall we go?" And I made myself as bad tempered as possible for the rest of the day. Jack and Jill's bad luck (though I did feel a bit guilty afterwards). 

_ Cassandra E. Potter _

  
~~~

Again, please review! 

**Next chapter__**: The sorting ceremony, Cassandra reads 'Lord of the Rings' and meets the Malfoys! 


	3. II

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(2/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 2 

_ 'Diamonds are forever. They are all I need to please me. They can stimulate and tease me. They won't leave in the night, I've no fear that they might desert me. Diamonds are forever. Hold one up and then caress it. Touch it, stroke it and undress it. I can see every part; nothing hides in the heart to hurt me.'_ ('Diamonds are Forever' from the James Bond film of the same name.) 

**_ The Book_**

Thursday August 20th 2020, 4:13:54 p.m. Penzance 

Well. I'm not sure if that quotation is completely satisfactory- for I don't have a diamond. Just a small piece of rough glass. That is, a rather large piece of rough glass actually. But I think it's beautiful. 

It's sitting on my bed now, the sunlight refracting through it. It's about one and half inches in diameter at an estimate using my thumb as a ruler. I found it this morning on the beach. (We're on holiday in Cornwall for a few weeks.) 

I was paddling about in a rather secluded rock pool near the cliffs to one side of the beach when I felt something graze my foot. I looked down and in the water, where the wave had just washed in, I saw a glint in the sun. (I mean, what was left of it. There's never enough sun when you go to the beach, so I've found.) I picked it up and it glowed all different colours. Unlike most pieces of glass that get washed up on the beach, this one wasn't worn away by the sea at all. The waves don't seem to have affected it in any way. 

When I look at it, it seems to glow slightly green, but a lot (sorry, Miss James ex English teacher- many) of the things that get washed up on the beach were originaly green wine bottles. 

It _is_ beautiful. I think I'll keep it as a good luck charm in exams- which now I'm going to go to Hogwarts, I'm actually going to need. 

Anyway, enough of my new found comforter, though I think I could write a whole book about it(!). 

_Cassandra E. Potter _

Saturday August 22th 2020, 5:15:01 p.m., Penzance

Here is a conversation I had with Mother the other day in the hotel conservatory. 

Mother: Are you all right, Cassandra? You seem restless. 

Me: I'm fine. Honestly. 

Mother: Hmm. I know you're disappointed about your wand, but really, Cassandra, you couldn't have used it before you went to Hogwarts anyway. 

Me: Ah, hmm, yeah. Um... 

Mother: Now, Cassandra. _(dramatic pause)_

Me: Yes, Mother? 

Mother: Your father and I have decided it is time to tell you a little about Hogwarts. 

Me: But- I know all about Hogwarts! 

Mother: Do you? 

Me: Yes! It's a castle, with a large lake and a giant squib. There is a great hall with a ceiling like swirling clouds. Um... there are four houses... there are kitchens and to get into them you tickle the pear... The library is very good but we can't go into the restricted section. There are twelve school govenors. They are you, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, Marisa Weasley, Miss Emma Sinclair, Professor McGonagall, who is also Headmistress, Mr. Seamus Finnigan, Mr. John Fletcher, Miss Cho Chang and I don't know who the others are. 

Mother: Is that all you know? 

Me: Oh no! _(embarrassed)_Well... ah... yes. 

Mother: Well, I shall recommend _Hogwarts, a History_ to you. It will enlighten you on many points. We have it at home. But for now, I'll just tell you a little about the houses since they are very important indeed. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. They are named after the four founders of Hogwarts. 

Me: Go on! 

Mother: Gryffindor is probably best house to be in. It values bravery, strength of mind, intelligence and sense. The symbol of Gryffindor is a lion. 

Me: Sounds perfect! Bet I won't be in it then! 

Mother: Nonsense! Ravenclaw is the learned house for those gifted with exceptional brains. However, that's not to say that very clever people can't be in other houses. The symbol of Ravenclaw is an eagle. 

Me: Ravenclaw sounds good as well. 

Mother: Moving on... Hufflepuff values friendship and loyalty above anything else. Their symbol is of a badger. 

Me: I shouldn't mind Huffepuff either! They all sound wonderful houses. 

Mother: I haven't finished yet. Last but not least comes Slytherin. Now, that's the house I would steer clear of, if I were you. 

Me: Why? 

Mother: Slytherin, well, Slytherin has a habit of turning out more dark wizards than good wizards. 

Me: Really?! 

Mother: Indeed. Lord Voldemort was a Slytherin once. In fact, he was the Heir of Slytherin. 

Me: The Heir of Slytherin! So the founders have heirs, do they? 

Mother: Yes. They are all supposed to. Slytherin and Ravenclaw have both produced heirs: Lord Voldemort and the Grey Lady, an old Headmistress of Hogwarts. She is now a ghost. Gryffindor and Hufflepuff's heirs have yet to be born. 

Me: All these things I didn't know! Well, go on, tell me more. 

Mother: About the heirs? I can't. I don't know more. No-one really knows anything about them and I'm certainly not an expert on the subject. 

Me: You must know something! 

Mother: I told you I don't! Now, this is the crunch of the matter. You remember the woman we met in Diagon Alley a few weeks ago? 

Me: Mrs. Malfoy? 

Mother: Yes. With her was her daughter, Emilia. 

Me: I thought it was her daughter. Go on! 

Mother: Emilia Malfoy will be going to Hogwarts this year. She will be in the same year as you. Her brother, Nero Malfoy is in Slytherin in the year above. From what I hear from Catherine, he is a no good sort. I, myself, have an aquaintance (if you can call it that) with Draco Malfoy, their father. He is not the pleasantest of men, Cassandra, and I would steer clear of his children. 

Me: I wouldn't consort with a Malfoy if they were the last family on earth! I can safely promise you _never_ to even talk to one. 

Mother: That may be unavoidable, but try your best. They are not a nice family, and Mr. Malfoy's father is currently in Azkaban for serving Lord Voldemort. I don't know how far the son is involved, but whatever you do, stay away from them. They are the lowest of all wizarding families. 

Me: I'll remember that, thank-you. 

Mother: Now, about something to do. Why don't we go into the centre of Penzance tomorrow and get you a good book to get your teeth in? _The Lord of the Rings_ I think. Yes, I think you're ready for that... 

Things to do

1) Read _Hogwarts, a History_. 

2) Read _Lord of the Rings_. 

3) Go swimming. 

4) Violin and oboe practise. 

5) Send postcards to all Weasleys and Grandma, Sirius and Arabella Black etc. 

6) Arrange stuff for Hogwarts. 

7) Do the above things instead of writing about them... 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

~~*~~

The small Romanian village of Pasnic slumbered quietly in the sultry night. Suddenly, just outside of the village the earth began to crack and then swelled up into the size of a mountain. Charlie Weasley and his wife Maria were still up, and watched horrified, as the dark sky behind it turned red and flames licked up from inside the volcano. 

Maria screamed. 

Tongues of bright fire burst up from the volcano and into the sky. Then a great coldness descended over the people of Pasnic, and they were afraid. 

The flames had now completely left the volcano and swooped over Pasnic, yet nothing was burned. It tried to get into the houses, but was not strong enough. It only caught one person who, with a scream of despair, was hauled into the midst of the giant flame and gave it strength. 

The flame was still young and couldn't stay out long. In one final swoop round the village it returned to the new mountain and was quiet. 

~~*~~

**_ The Book_**

Tuesday September 1st 2020, 10:14:25 p.m. Girls' Dormitory, Hogwarts

What an AMAZING day!! I never immagined that a place could be so wonderful. And I never knew what it was like to fall in love before. I have fallen in love with Hogwarts. It is the most perfect place in the universe! I know I shall never be able to leave it! I don't know what I shall do when I come to graduate! I truly am the happiest creature on earth! 

We left the Two Towers early, for Derbyshire is a long way from London and King's Cross Station. Both my parents were coming to see me off. 

The only hitch in the proceedings was that I found I had left my copy of _The Fellowship of the Ring_ on my bed at home. We had almost reached Birmingham by then and of course we were too far away to go back and get it. We had to stop at a 24 hours garage and purchase a cheap, paperback copy with print so small it was almost unreadable! Still, beggars and people in a hurry to catch a train cannot be choosers. 

We reached Kings Cross with only a few minutes to spare. Mother found a trolley, while Father told me in a hurried whisper to ignore whatever Mother said about being good, and to definitely annoy Professor Snape as much as possible. Apparently he's absolutely horrid, as well as being head of Slytherin house. I felt very torn. If Snape really is dreadful, then I shall certainly give him a piece of my mind. 

However, I do have a deep rooted impression that school is for learning, and that teachers deserve respect. I also know that teachers are human, for my godmother Catherine is a teacher and she's one of the nicest people I know. From what I've seen today, I seem to be the only eleven year old who has this opinion. It's rather discouraging. 

When Mother returned we found platform nine and three quarters. Father was all for all three of us holding hands and running at the barrier. Mother, of course, was against this and suggested we leant gently against it while talking about the weather. Mother won. 

I do believe, that in all my life I have never seen such confusion (except perhaps when the Chudley Cannons won a game about five years ago) as there was on that platform. The steam engine was whistling loudly and everyone was shouting and running everywhere. 

"Let's find the Weasleys!" called Mother over the chaos. 

"The what?" 

"The WEASLEYS, Harry!" 

"_Oh_!" 

Eventually we found Percy Weasley and his daughter Megan, who will be in the sixth year. She's the only Weasley with no red hair whatsoever. She's a brunette. 

"Percy and Megan! How lovely to see you!" cried Mother, "and I say, Megan, you're a prefect! How delightful!" 

Megan was certainly sporting her silver badge. "Oh thanks. But you know, I was a prefect last year as well." 

"Yes, we hope Meg'll be Head Girl next year," said Percy pompously, "The first Weasley Head Girl of this generation!" 

"The first of many, I hope," smiled Mother. 

Megan scowled, "I shouldn't want to be Head Girl. A prefect is bad enough. I don't know why everyone expects me to be Head Girl, Minister of Magic and all that rubbish. Actually, I want to study Hippogriffs more than anything!" 

"Well, shall we find a compartment?" said Father, feeling the tension. 

"I thought I saw Jenny and Tom over there. Well, bye Dad. I hope you get that promotion that you wanted." Megan kissed her father and he disappeared into the crowd. 

"Are you coming, Cassandra?" she asked, "I'll take care of her from now on, Harry." 

I bit my lip. I don't think I need being taken care of. 

Father hugged me and whispered, "Put that owl to good use, Cassie. Enjoy yourself." I glanced at my tawny owl, Portia, and grinned, "I'll write loads and loads." 

Mother smiled, with a little water in her eyes perhaps, "Do take care, dear. I'll miss you." She straightened up, "And any reports of misbehaviour from Professor McGonagall and you'll be in for an unpleasant suprise at Christmas! Don't forget- both Grandma and Catherine will have their eyes on you." 

At this point, a loud scream came from the engine and I jumped almost three feet in the air and Portia flapped about her cage in suprise. 

Mother quickly kissed me and then I found my hand being grabbed, and Megan pulled me onto the train, my trunk following. 

"Now, let's find the others. They're around somewhere." She peeped into different compartments until she found one, near the end of the carriage, "Here!" she called into it, "Found you!" 

Two redheaded boys came up to me and pulled my trunk into the compartment, I followed. 

I must say, if I could chosen another compartment I would have done. This was one of the smallest- only room for six. It contained the whole of the Weasley clan. 

There was Jack and Jill, sharing a seat by the window. Next to them were Jenny, George and Katie's daughter, and Martin, the twin's elder brother, sporting repaired glasses and a large book of charms. People call him 'Little Percy' since he certainly takes after his uncle more than he does Ron. 

On the other side, Megan had slumped and was now playing cards with Tom, Jenny's brother. Edward, Catherine and Bill's eldest offspring, Xanthia's brother was squashed up in a corner writing an essay. 

Xanthia herself was leaning out of the open window at a perilous angle and yelling at her mother, "I don't need my hat! Yes, I know you've got it there, and I could reach down and pick it up if I wanted to! I know the train's about to leave! Er, is leaving now! Mum- don't swear! It's just a hat! Mum- I've never needed this hat before, and I doubt very much if I'll need on the train! I'll see you at Hogwarts in a few hours. Unfortunately. Don't put Cassie's case there, Edward! Sorry, Mum? Bye, Mum!" And the train drew out of the station, Catherine Weasley still visible running along the platform clutching Xanthia's pointed hat. 

There was no where to sit, so I sat on the floor and pulled out _The Fellowship of the Ring_, pushed my glasses furthur up my nose in a hope that I might be able to read the small print better, and tried to get myself comfortable. 

Xanthia pulled her head back in through the window and closed it. She looked around the compartment, and suddenly clambered up onto the luggage rack. 

Edward looked up in horror, "Xanthia! What do you think you're doing? Get down immediately!" 

She stuck her tongue out at her brother, "No! I'm quite comfortable up here, actually. Come and join me, Cassandra? No? How odd! Pass me my Transfiguration book, please Meg." 

And she spent the whole of the journey on the luggage rack. 

Jill looked down at me and asked what I was reading. I showed her the cover. To which she replied, "Oh that! That's so boring, I've heard." 

"Have you read it?" 

"Well, no but just look at the size of the print!" 

"The size of the print isn't everything, Jill." 

"Hmm, you read too much," and she returned to her scrutiny of her nails. 

"How far have you got, Cassandra?" asked Martin quietly. He's read every single book in the English language (or so he says). 

"Merry and Pippin are stuck in a willow tree and Frodo and Sam are rather worried. If you don't mind... I'll just continue." 

I bent my head to my book and was dead to the world for a couple of hours. 

"Look at the fog!" said Jack suddenly. 

"Eeek!" I cried, scared from my book. Everyone laughed, and we all looked out of the window. Thick fog was shrounding the landscape. It wasn't thin. It was thick. I couldn't see anything. It was rather spooky, and I put down my book. I had just reached a chapter called 'Fog on the Barrow Downs' and I didn't think it would be a very good idea to read such a chapter in weather like that. Not that I would be frightened by a bit of mist... Of course not! It takes worse things to fighten a Potter! However, this is the scariest thing I've ever come across. But it's fiction, and should therefore not be taken seriously. Whoever heard of magic rings that give eternal power, black faceless riders, evil dark lords (well- we had one of them a long time ago but I don't know anything about that.) All complete fiction! I'm not scared! 

It was then that some Slytherins decided to pay us a visit. The compartment door slid open and revealed a tall boy with very fair hair and cold grey eyes, the girl I saw in Mr. Ollivander's, a short, pugnacious, thickset boy and a large muscular girl, both equally ugly. 

"Rather crowded in here," commented Emilia's brother. "Can't you afford two compartments, or is it impossible to separate this clan?" 

"The only people we want to separate ourselves from is you, Malfoy," said Xanthia lazily from the luggage rack. Malfoy looked round the cabin, and almost tripped over me. 

His eyes widened when he recognized me. (Why does everyone know who I am? It's not my fault I've got green eyes.) I stared mulishly up from the floor. 

"Gracious," he said, "is this the Potter girl? Sitting on the floor? Such a, how can I put it? _condesending_ gesture, for her to join you." 

"I have a name. It's Cassandra, and you can get lost," I replied without breaking eye contact. 

Emilia then came forward and leered down at me, "Ooh, I'm so scared, aren't I? You're so intimidating, you know, _Cassandra_? I'm going to run away screaming. God." 

I made no reply. 

"Why don't you stand up and let me look at you. I like being scared." 

I said nothing. 

"Come on, Potter. We want to look at you, don't we, Lucy?" 

Lucy, the other girl nodded twice. Jack sighed in expasperation, "Look, Whatever-your-name-is, she doesn't want to stand up. She's quite happy as she is." 

Emilia cocked an eyebrow, "On the floor? This _celebrity_ is _happy_ on the floor? Are you, Cassandra? Are you?" 

Actually, my legs were so stiff that I'm not sure I'd have be able to stand anyway. 

I managed it even with my dreadful pins and needles, and stood up, "I'm perfectly happy, Emilia Malfoy, but I'd be even happier without your company. Would you mind leaving?" 

She burst out laughing, "Look at her, Nero! For such an 'important' person, she's barely four foot!" 

I clenched my fists. 

Nero laughed too, "And do you call _this_ hair? It's like dirty dishwater!" He then had the cheek to finger a piece of my hair. I whipped it away from him angrily. My hair may not be the most appealing part of my face, but he had no right to insult it. 

"And so sweet, isn't it, her having matched the frames of her glasses with her eye colour. Don't you agree, Lucy?" screeched Emilia. 

Lucy nodded twice again. She seems to be a girl of few words. 

I was getting angrier by the second. I've never really been angry before, and now all the anger that I had, was spilling up. I was going to loose my temper. 

"GET OUT!!" I yelled at the top of my voice. The other Weasleys, I could see out of the corners of my eyes, had raised their wands. As soon as I had yelled I burst into tears. 

Nero bit his lip, probably to stop himself from laughing. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. I was so ashamed. To cry in front of the Malfoys! I'll never live it down. And the worst of it is, that I was sure that I would now have no chance of getting into Gryffindor. Gryffindors are meant to be brave. I just started _crying_. 

"Just go!" I sobbed. And the odd thing was, they went. 

Immediately everyone became busy feeling sorry for me. I dodged them all since I hate people who try and sympathize with someone who is crying. They may mean well, but it's very fake. Pity, I mean. 

I ran out of the compartment and leaned against the rail in the corriador outside. I hate those windows on the trains. The rail in the middle is just at my eye level. The top section is too high and the bottom bit is too low to look out of. Malfoy was right- I am barely four foot, but there's no need to draw attention to the fact. I'll grow! I bet in five years they won't know me! 

Jill had followed me out, "Are you all right, Cassandra? They are jerks, you know. Don't get yourself so worked up." 

I nodded, and felt a strong urge to start crying again, "They're beastly, aren't they? Beastly." I managed a watery smile. 

Jill nodded hard, "Absolutely beastly." 

I paused, "But, Jill, they're the first nasty people I've ever met. I wasn't expecting that." 

Jill laughed, "Golly, I always knew your parents protected you, but I didn't know that they were that over protective! If they were the worst you've seen... No offense or anything, but you'll have to stop crying when they're horrid to you. And they will be." 

"I know. But why? Why are people horrible? I don't think I'm nasty, you're not nasty, nobody I know is nasty, so why are some people?" 

"Now you're beyond me! In my opinion, they're nasty, and that's an end to it!" 

I wasn't satisfied. It's like in _Lord of the Rings_. Why does the ring make people evil? Why is Sauron evil? What is the pleasure in being evil? 

After a little while we returned to the compartment, where the others seemed to have made a pact not to speak of anything Malfoy. The topic seemed to be French verbs. Xanthia was insisting that the past participle of écrire was écris with an 's' and Martin was trying to pursuade her that it was écrit with a 't'. Martin, it turned out, was correct. 

We arrived at Hogsmeade station not long afterwards. 

Immediately there was a rush to leave the train and Jack and Jill and I all clutched each other's hands so that we would not get separated. The older students all left shouting and jostling, and we got off more slowly afterwards. 

The fog had got slightly lighter, and was now more floating in tendrils instead of a thick blanket. It was very mysterious. All around us people were talking and running and tripping over us, calling, "Damn those little first years! Always getting in the way!" We had no idea what to do. 

Suddenly, in the fog a voice called out, "Firs' Years! Firs' Years! Over here!" 

A dark shape loomed up out of the white all around us. "Hagrid!" cried Jack with relief. 

I grinned. I had completely forgotton about Hagrid. I'd never met him before, but he had featured in my father's old bed time stories a great deal. If I remember right, he once hatched a baby dragon all by himself. He must have read an awful lot to be able to do that successfully. 

He loomed up in front of us, "Now, who's this? Not another Weasley!" 

Jack grinned, "'fraid so, Professor, and you've got two of us this time. I'm Jack and this is Jill. And this Cassandra." 

"Not little Cassandra Potter?" he sounded suprised, "and you're really eleven? I remember when you were jest a little baby! Now, lemme look at you." 

I gazed up in the general direction of his face and he bent a lantern down towards me and looked me up and down. He had a very friendly face. At the end of his scrutiny he sighed deeply and said, as though satisfied, "Yer a Potter, Cassandra, you are." 

"Well, I'd hardly be anything else really, would I?" 

He chuckled, "No, very true." 

"I'd hardly want to be." 

He nodded thoughtfully, "I dessay you wouldn't." And then he heaved his lantern up and moved off down the platform with us following. 

The fog may have been getting lighter, but now it was becoming dark- it was seven o'clock, after all. There was a stiff breeze blowing and between the threads of drifting fog it was very cold and clear. When we arrived at the end of the platform there was a cluster of ninety odd first years, all in varying states of cold, exhaustion and general misery. Someone near me was chattering his or her teeth very audibly. I found it irritating. An Asian girl was pointing out Venus to anyone who was interested. (i.e. no-one.) 

Hagrid explained to us that we would be going a different way across to Hogwarts: across a lake. You're supposedly meant to get a good view of the castle, but I didn't think we're likely to get one today. 

We didn't. However, it was quite an _experience_. The lake was quite still (as still it could be in that breeze) and very dark. The boats glided silently across the water. As we came round a corner (I think it was actually a river going to a lake) we saw some golden pinpricks of light in a large dark building: Hogwarts, fog swirling round its topmost towers. We all gazed spellbound. 

Actually, when I got over how incredible a piece of architecture it was, I immediately thought that, were this sequence of events in a film, it would be one of those bits where there's some beautiful slow haunting music with etherial choirs floating and singing 'Aah' above the violins playing in seventh position. There always is a bit in any halfway decent film with music like that. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" breathed Jill, shivering. Jack just stared silently. 

We passed under an archway into a lighted cave, where there was a landing stage. We all got out and grew accustomed to the light. 

There was a door on one side of the landing stage, with a large bell pull. Hagrid pulled it and the sound reverberated all through the building. 

I could here footsteps coming towards the door and soon it was pulled open. The opener was a youngish man with quite messy brown hair, twinkling grey eyes, a pleasant, open face and a friendly smile. I liked him instantly. 

"Thank-you, Hagrid, I'll deal with them now." 

Hagrid nodded and disappeared. The teacher looked at us and then laughed, "Come along in, then!" He held the door for us and we traipsed into the warm. 

He ushered us into a room, with many portraits. They were all moving, which I was quite used to, but some found rather worrying. After reassuring the muggle borns, the teacher introduced himself, "Good evening, girls and boys. I'm Professor Harker and I'm the Deputy Headmaster. I shall be superintending the sorting. Now," he glanced down at a piece of paper in his hand, "is there a Miss Cassandra Potter here? I would like to speak to her." 

There was dead silence then Jill gently pushed me forward. I went to stand next to Professor Harker. Looking back at the other children, ninety-nine pairs of interested eyes stared back at me. 

Professor Harker smiled, "Are you Cassandra?" 

I nodded. 

"Good, pleased to meet you. Well, I've a little matter to discuss with you if you could just step outside." 

We left the room and passed through a hall way into another room. Lying in the middle of the table was a wand. 

"My wand?" I cried, excited. 

He nodded, "Do you want to try it out?" 

Gently, I picked it up. Immediately I felt a pulse of warmth spread all the way through, it was a wonderful feeling. I waved it, and sparks flew out. 

"Ten and three quarters inches, ancient oak and contains one piece of a lion's mane." 

He looked suprised, "Yes, you're right. You have a good memory." 

"I do," I agreed. "Elephants never forget. Neither do I." 

"Well," he laughed, "you'll be good at vocabulary learning in French and Latin. Shall we go back?" 

I hesitated, "Please, can I just try a spell on it? Really quickly?" 

"Go on then! I shouldn't really let you, but go on." 

I looked around, and my eye lighted upon a book on the window sill. Pointing my wand I concentrated very hard, and said, "_Accio_!" 

There was a second's delay, then the book appeared in my hand. The teacher clapped hard, "Well done, Miss Potter, well done! Considering this is the first time you've ever done magic, that's really excellent! And that is a fourth year charm, you know." 

"Is it?" I asked, feeling very pleased. The first spell I ever do works perfectly, and it's one I shall not be learning for another four years! It really made my day. Mother will be so proud of me, I thought to myself. She said I'd be very good at magic and, you know, I think she might be right. 

Professor Harker seemed desparate to return to the sorting, so I followed him back to the crowd. Jack and Jill raised their eyebrows at me. Since they had been with me when we went to Ollivander's they know all about my wand. I smiled back at them. 

Suddenly a pretty girl who looked half Chinese came up to us and asked quietly, "Excuse me, but do you know anything about the sorting? There's all sorts of rumours going round. I'm not sure what happens..." 

Jack was just about to reply and since he'd have lied and made it out to be something quite dreadful, I trod on his toe and answered myself and told her just what you had to do. 

She laughed and said cheerfully, "Oh you've set my mind at rest! I'm Kim, by the way." She held out her hand. 

I shook it, "Cassandra Potter." 

I'm sure the conversation would have continued if Professor Harker hadn't called us in for the sorting. 

We all got into register order. I was behind a girl with thick brown hair in a pony tail who seemed very worried and excited. Jack and Jill of course (being Weasleys) were right at the back. Kim was nearer the front. 

Professor Harker had thrown open large double doors and sound and bright light spilled out. 

"I'm _so_ going to die of terror!" said the girl in front of me to the girl infront of her. 

We entered the room. I am sure that my descriptions would not do it justice. Suffice to say that it was massive and it really did have the enchanted ceiling that Father had mentioned. I felt a little homesick. All those stranges eyes, staring at us were making me feel rather selfconcious. 

There were five tables and for the first time I realised the importance of houses at Hogwarts. My parents had all tried to be neutral, which was hard for them, since they were both in Gryffindor. The Weasleys also have been in Gryffindor since the beginning of the world. The only exception is Edward who is in Ravenclaw. Catherine has Ravenclaw blood in her, however (though she was a Gryffindor) so that's all right, I suppose. 

The Slytherins all looked pretty horrid, the others seemed quite neutral. I did hope I would be in Gryffindor. 

Professor Harker clapped his hands for quiet and the sorting hat (which I could not see over the long line of students in front of me) began its song. I took the opportunity to study the rest of the room. 

The fifth table was the teacher's table. I immediately looked for Catherine, who was sitting quite near the middle of the table and was staring up at the ceiling (probably cross eyed). She looked bored out of her senses. 

At the centre of the table was a tall, strict looking woman with iron grey hair scraped back into a tight bun. She had a piercing glare and was wearing tartan robes. She was Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress. 

To her right was an empty chair for Professor Harker, and to her left was a sober man with darkish skin and very greasy black hair. Even Sharon Smith, a neighbour, of Brassington Home Farm couldn't rival the amount of greasiness in that hair. (And she has _very_ greasy hair.) He looked rather distainful of the whole proceedings. Next to him was my grandmother, Lily Potter who is Head of Charms and next to her was Catherine, head still in the clouds. Grandma nudged her, and she jerked out of her reverie and surveyed the sorting hat with rapt attention for about three seconds before returning to whatever fantasy she had been enjoying previously. 

The sorting hat finished its song and Professor Harker cleared his throat. I crossed my fingers. I don't believe in superstition, but I always cross my fingers... 

"Abbot, Kirsten!" called out Professor Harker. I craned around the brown haired girl in order to see better. It didn't work. There must have been about seventy pupils in front of me. Still, after a while, the sorting hat yelled, "GRYFFINDOR!" 

The Gryffindor table started cheering. From my angle I couldn't see them very well either. 

The next person (Francis Ackerly) had been called, and was soon sorted into Ravenclaw. 

After another Ravenclaw there was the first Hufflepuff. The Slytherins didn't get anyone until Lorelei Butterworth was sorted. She was number ten if I remember rightly. 

I can't remember all the students who were sorted, indeed, after a while it all became all rather blurry. I had a headache and I was nervous. 

Lucy Crabbe, Emilia's friend became a Slytherin, obviously. They're welcome to her. 

Robert Cresswell became a Gryffindor and Chloe Dammis a Slytherin. Fisicaro Drogo, a very Mediterranean looking boy became a Hufflepuff. 

Catherine was now looking at the floor with the same interest as she had watched the ceiling previously. She clapped politely at every name. 

The next pupil was called Elizabeth Elliot. I'd hate to be named after someone in a book, and a horrible person at that. Elizabeth was sorted into Hufflepuff. 

A few names later Kimberley Fortune, the girl who had asked me about the sorting was sorted into to Gryffindor. I really hoped I'd be in Gryffindor. 

They ploughed through the Gs, the Hs, the one I, the Js, and the Ks. In the Ls they were held up by a short boy with thick brown hair, Felix Lorrimer, who took about five minutes. He became a Hufflepuff eventually. 

The Ms were highlighted by Emilia Malfoy's sorting. Naturally she became a Slytherin, having not spent long under the hat, either. 

There were only fifteen to go till I was called. I could see the stool and the hat now, now sorting Phillip Marshall. 

The next few names seemed to go very quickly. Then there were only two left before me. 

"Peterson, Donnatella!" shouted Professor Harker. 

A girl walked forward, put on the hat, and was sorted into Gryffindor. Then Professor Harker cried, "Peterson, Dorothea!" and the girl in front of me put on the hat. Donnatella and Dorothea were identical twins. Dorothea became a Gryffindor as well. 

There was _no-one_ left. 

"Potter, Cassandra!" 

Catherine had bothered to look up. I should think so too; she's my Godmother! 

The space between me and the stool seemed to increase the closer I moved towards it. A very interesting fact that I should look into one day (but not now). I noticed that the silence was heavier than before. Everyone was watching me more than they had watched anyone else. I suppose that's because I'm Harry Potter's daughter. 

I picked up the hat, and it screamed in its loudest voice, "GRYFFINDOR!" I hadn't even lifted it up to my head. 

If I had thought the silence was intense before I reached the hat, it was nothing to what it was like now. It pressed against my ears so much that it hurt. No-one moved. I stood in the middle of the room holding the hat as if it was a hot brick. Slowly I turned to teacher's table, and after licking my lips, said to Professor McGonagall in the midst of all this silence, "Excuse me Professor, am I sorted? Or shall I put on the hat?" 

Professor McGonagall snapped out of her suprise, "Why, I..." and, having clearly no idea herself, consulted the greasy haired treacher, who I'd worked out to be Snape, and my grandmother _sotto voce_. The school began to buzz with chatter. "Hush!" said Professor Harker loudly. 

The teachers emerged from their huddle, and Professor McGonagall turned to me, "I believe you are sorted. What just happened was most irregular-" (here she looked at me in such a way as to make me feel it was my fault) "-but I do not see why the sorting should not work just as well in this way. The hat has clearly made its decision. What do you think, Professor Shortstraw?" 

Catherine stopped staring into space and said firmly, "Oh definitely! Quite!" 

"Thank-you." I put down the hat and walked over to the Gryffindor table. Suddenly Xanthia cried, "Cheer, everyone!" and the table erupted into applause. I felt myself blush and sidled into an empty seat at the end of the table. 

"Delayed reaction. Stupid idiots!" hissed Xanthia across the table from me as Cornelia Raftery joined the Ravenclaws. 

I was so relieved to be in Gryffindor that I hardly concentrated on the rest of the names, except to cheer loudly when Jack and Jill joined me in Gryffindor. I was suprised to see that were six people left before the end of the list. Irina Wescott became a Ravenclaw as did Clarence Woodhouse and Samuel Yates. Michelle Wood, a girl who if I hadn't known her name I would have taken her for a boy became the last Gryffindor. Thomas Zackery became a Hufflepuff and Timothy Zagan ended the register with number 100 as a Slytherin. 

Immediately Professor McGonagall stood up and addressed the school, "Welcome everybody, and especially welcome to the new First Years to this new school year of 2020. Before we start the feast I have a few notices to give out. Firstly, we have been joined by Professor Glenn who will be assisting Professor Snape in the Potion's department." 

A ripple ran through the crowd. Professor Snape, I found out afterwards, had never accepted any colleagues, even when the school dramatically expanded in 2013 and had always insisted in working on his own. He looked very sour about Professor Glenn's arrival. And well he might! She was very young and rather pretty and she was smiling cheerfully. Just what Snape would hate, I'm sure. 

Professor McGonagall turned her attention from the Potion's department and cleared her throat. The hall fell silent. "I'm sure," she continued, "that you've noticed the absense of Professor Johnson here." There were a few nods. 

"I'm afraid to tell you that Professor Johnson passed away during the summer." Shock. "He was involved in a motor accident in July and was instantly killed. We were very much moved and we will certainly remember him with great kindness. He was an excellent member of the Transfiguration department and a very fine and well loved Head of Gryffindor. Perhaps we could all take a few minutes to remember him." She bowed her head and we all followed suit. The happy atmosphere had changed drastically and everyone was looking very shocked and worried, though not openly sad. One Ravenclaw started crying, which we all tried to ignore. 

Since I had never met Professor Johnson, or even heard of him, I could not join in with the silent reflection as much as other people, but I did mutter a little prayer. 

When Professor McGonagall started speaking again, it was to introduce Professor Jenkins as Professor Johnson's replacement in the Transfiguration department. She then said, "As for the new Head of Gryffindor, after much discussion, we have decided to give the place to Professor Catherine Shortstraw." There were a few gasps; I was certainly very suprised, but clapped very loudly. A girl with long blond hair and too much makeup turned to me and said spitefully, "Don't think she'll be lenient to _you_, even if she _is_ your godmother!" 

Xanthia stopped banging her head on the table to snap, "Oh go do self-cruciatus, Hyacinth!" before resuming her somewhat peculiar way of celebrating her mother's promotion. 

Professor McGonagall smiled, "I'm sure you've all felt how much an integral part of the school society Professor Shortstaw is, since she has been here eleven years and indeed, was the principle pioneer along with her friend Lady Potter who is Head of the Department of International Magical Educational Schemes and Syllabuses-" 

"Or MESS," whispered Xanthia audibly. 

"-and chief school governor, in introducing both French and Latin to the school syllabus, something I'm sure we've never regretted." 

Judging from the dubious looks the school was giving both Catherine and Professor McGonagall, I would doubt that statement very much, but neither seemed to notice, or if they did they didn't show it. 

"Perhaps we should have a round of applause," hinted Professor McGonagall. We all clapped, the Gryffindors louder than the rest, though some didn't look very happy about their new head of house. 

Professor McGonagall continued, "Now, a few more notices." 

Jack's stomach rumbled. 

"The Head Boy for this year is Adam Marsdon of Hufflepuff and his two deputies are Richard Clement of Gryffindor and Sean Pickles of Slytherin. The Head Girl is Anna Williams of Ravenclaw and her deputies are Clare Lockhead also of Ravenclaw and Brigit Holland of Gryffindor. Contact them or any of the sixteen prefects if you have any queries. 

"The members and captains of the quidditch teams are listed in your common rooms. Could I emphasise that first years can_not_ play on a team. The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to everyone and there will be suspension to anyone who goes in it." 

There was a general outbreak here. "That's new!" whispered Martin, "they've threatened detention before, but not suspension. I wonder why." 

"It's because Cassie came. You know why," replied Xanthia in a tone definitely not intented for my ears. I wonder what she meant by it. Why would they tighten up the rules, just because I've come? It's not as if I'm going to break any! I intend to be a very _good_ pupil. 

Professor McGonagall told us about Filch, the caretaker's new set of rules, (I seemed to be the only one was listening) and then told us to start the feast. 

"I could eat a hippogriff!" sighed Jill happily, as roast chicken, mashed potatoes, carrots, gravy, stuffing and parsnips appeared on our plates. 

"Jillian Weasley! You wouldn't think of doing such a thing! Hippogriffs rule!" shouted Megan over the noise of the start of term feast. 

The food was very good, and Jack, Jill and I had much to talk about. Our faces glimmered in the firelight, and there was a very warm, peaceful atmosphere. I felt very tired, and yet strangly awake. 

"Do you think we'll have to call Aunt Catherine 'Professor Shortstraw'?" mused Jack. 

"I think it would be best," I replied. 

"What a bore. But, Cassie, I don't see why she shouldn't be Professor or Mrs. Weasley. That is her name now, after all. Why use her maiden name? It's not even a very, you know, _lucky_ name, is it?" 

Edward, who was sitting on the end of the Ravenclaw table, leaned over to explain, "It's because there are so many Mrs. Weasleys around. She doesn't want to be confused with anyone else." 

Jill laughed, "But come on! There aren't any other Mrs. Weasleys at Hogwarts! And not many people teach Latin, do they? Seems very unecessary to me. You couldn't confuse _anyone_ with my aunt." 

"But it's lucky that she's Head of Gryffindor now, isn't it?" said Jack, "she's not very strict." 

"No," agreed Jenny, "in fact, she doesn't believe in detentions! Or taking off house points! She's in the middle of a really big arguement with McGongall, so I've heard, about it. She thinks we should dispence with points and detentions. I was really suprised when they said she was promoted. Last year, we all thought she was going to get the sack it got so bad. And you know what McGonagall's like? Rules rules rules! Discipline discipline discipline! all the way through." 

"But it's amazing that she doesn't believe in detentions! Does she really?" 

Jenny nodded, "Really and truly. Last year, she caught my friend Roger writing 'Latin is boring. Put a tally if you agree!' on the desk, and she didn't take any points off!" 

"What did she do then?" 

"She kept him in at lunchtime and discussed it with him!" 

"What an odd thing to do!" cried Jill. 

"She did give us all triple homework when he told her, for some reason, that we all thought it was boring." 

"That was a stupid thing to say!" Jack said. 

I switched off. The doings of last year's third year Latin set have limited interest, I have to say. 

Xanthia turned to me and said, "Hyacinth Gibbons wants to meet you, Cassandra. Can't think why- she'll only be nasty but there we go." 

It was the pretty girl who had been scathing about Catherine's promotion. She tossed her head, "Now, Xanthia, don't be so horrid about your brother's girlfriend. It's not very polite." 

Xanthia ignored her and turned to me, "Have you noticed, Cassandra, that the Weasley men always fancy silly, ignorant girls, but marry sensible, lovely women?" 

"Hey!" said Jack. 

"They do. I've observed it," replied Xanthia. 

Hyacinth looked horrified, "I don't want to marry Edward!" 

"I think you missed the point slightly. Anyway, Hyacinth, this is Cassandra. Cassandra, this is Hyacinth. We're unfortunately in the same class." 

Hyacinth smiled at me. I smiled back, though not without some effort. 

"So, Cassandra, you've been looking forward to coming to Hogwarts, have you?" She opened the conversation. 

"Oh yes! Very much!" 

"And... are you expecting to have any adventures?" 

She sounded like someone out of an Enid Blyton adventure story. "Well, not really. Should I be?" I replied. 

She shrugged, "I don't know. I just thought you might be trying to take after your father. Defeating evil and losing points for Gryffindor along the way, you know." 

"But there isn't any evil to defeat! Besides, my father didn't do that all the time!" 

Hyacinth wriggled her neatly pencilled eyebrows, "Well, from what I've heard he nearly always was. There was the Philosopher's Stone, wasn't there? And nobody's quite sure what happened in the Chamber of Secrets, but it was something quite extraordinary. And then, there was the Triwizard Tournament, when You-Know-Who got his body back-" 

"You-Know-Who got his body back, and my father was present?" 

"You mean you don't _know_?" She looked shocked, "Everyone else knows." 

"Knows _what_?" 

Hyacinth chose not to reply. Instead she started to say, "And then in his seventh year-" only to be interrupted by a very angry Xanthia, "Why don't you _shut up_ for a change, Hyacinth? You should be a Slytherin, you're so horrible. I don't see what Edward sees in you!" 

Hyacinth looked furious, "Mind your own business, Xanthia and I'll mind mine!" 

"Well, don't mind Cassie's!" retorted Xanthia. 

I coughed loudly and found my tongue, "I don't know you very well, Hyacinth, but I'm inclined to agree with Xanthia- mind your own business! I don't get any pleasure from talking to you." 

Hyacinth looked as if she had been stung, "You mean that, do you? Well, I had expected more kindness from Harry Potter's daughter. Someone so special, as well!" 

"I'm not special. I'm Cassandra Elizabeth Potter, aged eleven, of the Two Towers, Brassington, Derbyshire, and that's it. All right?" 

"Well... I've heard differently." 

"You've heard! You've heard from from someone who's heard from someone else who's heard from some muggle who doesn't know the first thing about anything! I don't give a fig for your rumours! If there was anything to know, then my parents would have told me. As it is, there isn't anything to talk about, and that's the end to that!" 

Xanthia mouthed, "Well done!" and I turned my back the two third years and ranted away to Jack about girls who talk about nothing except makeup and boys. It's so nice to complain to someone who you know feels exactly the same way! 

After supper we left the Great Hall and made our way sleepily to our houses. The Gryffindor common room, we found, was guarded by a portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress. The password was 'Smoke and Fire'. The Gryffindor common room was very comfotable and very red. There was a fire buring merrily in the grate. Meg and another prefect divided us into dormitories and sent the girls up the staircase to the right, and the boys to the left. I was sharing a dormitory with Jill, Kirsty Abbot (who was moaning about not being in Hufflepuff for some reason), Kim and Kirsty's pretty friend Esmée Robinson. 

A prefect has just shouted up the stairs to tell us to turn off the light. Tomorrow will bring lessons, and who knows what else? 

And so, as I believe it was Shakespeare who once said, to bed. 

_Cassandra E. Potter_

  
~~~

_ Keep those good reviews coming! I love reading them- and the more questions posed the better. E-mail me at the address at the top of the page. I guarantee a reply! _

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**Next chapter:**_ Life at Hogwarts, Snape sticks his nose into things and Lady Potter has a dream. All this and more in _**Chapter 3**. 


	4. III

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(3/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 3 _'At last the secret is out, as it always must come in the end, the delicious story is ripe to tell to the intimate friend; Over the tea-cups and in the square the tongue has its desire; Still waters run deep, my dear, there's never smoke without fire...'_ -W.H. Auden, Twelve songs 

Professor Catherine Shortstraw dejectedly poked her wand at the large green board that sat flickering in the candlelight on her solid but overburdened wooden desk. She clutched the instructions booklet that was just too small and too thick to be held confortably and sighed heavily. She read on, 

_ 'To start your use of the 'Confundius-Sinclaire Magical Battle Simulation Kit' you must remove the main board from its box.'_

"Yes, thank-you. I'm very obliged to you for being so helpful," she snapped at the booklet and turned a couple more pages. 

_ 'To specify a historical period one needs the use of Conditional Charms.'_

Catherine groaned, Conditional Charms were not her forté. 

_ 'To start the charm the wrist movement must be practised. The following diagrams (figures 1a. to 1d.) should be followed for maximum results.' _

Catherine stared in wonder at what appeared to be four artistic pictures of rabbits jumping about the page in varying degrees of madness, clutching sticks in their mouths and being followed by little coloured arrows and dotted lines. 

What possessed me to buy this? she wondered, and how shall I ever get it working efficiently by tomorrow morning to show the new third years? 

There was a knock on the door and Lily Potter entered. When Lily was younger she had been very friendly with Catherine's mother, Cidilla, and she was now just as fond of Cidilla's youngest daughter. 

"Not asleep yet, Catherine? Why whatever's that?" 

"That," said Professor Shortstaw, "is the 'Confundius-Sinclair Magical Battle Simulation Kit'." 

Lily glanced at the box lying on the floor and picked it up with raised eyebrows, "So I see. Why are you trying to do this now? It's quarter to eleven, and I know what you're like when you don't get enough sleep. Your poor class!" 

Catherine rubbed her eyes, "But I've got the third years first thing tomorrow. I was going to show them the Battle of Salamis to enthuse them..." 

Lily smiled and looked carefully at the small print on the box, "Catherine, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but this only does land battles. It can't simulate water. Silly Professor Shortstraw, didn't you read the small print?" 

"I bought it from a magazine..." moaned Catherine. 

Lily picked up a piece of authorative looking parchment and glanced at it, "You're in debt, Catherine? What a stupid thing to have gone and done!" 

Catherine sighed, "Yes, I bought this kit out of the departmental budget, and now I owe the school twenty five galleons. It's a very great nuisance." 

She tossed the bill into the fire, "Now, Lily, what did you come to talk to me about?" 

Lily sat down and ate one of Catherine's supply of Italian grapes, "Cassandra." 

"Indeed." 

"What did you think about the sorting? Odd, wasn't it? And the rumours have started already." 

Catherine didn't reply for a minute then she said cautiously, "I greatly admire Cassandra's mother, she's one of the kindest and bravest women I know and she has done many great things in her lifetime, but I _do_ think that she should have told Cassandra before she came to Hogwarts." 

Lily nodded hard and ate another grape, "Yes, I agree. All secrets are odious, and I really believe this to be the most odious of them all." 

"I think we must be thinking of different things, what I was referring to was not odious at all." 

Lily sighed, "The whole blasted family is so shrouded in mystery, speculation and secrets that I hardly know where fact ends and fiction starts! I wouldn't have enough fingers to count all the things that have been said about the Potters at one time or another. Look at me for instance! Only about ten people know that I'm really Professor Dumbledore's daughter and not his niece. But the theory of how I survived death is so leaky, that at least half the world should suspect something. I don't _see_ how people can be so trusting! It's against human nature, surely, to believe anything and everything that they're spoon fed." 

"Well, they'd have trouble believing all the Potter business if it ever came out." 

"People will believe anything so long as it's bad," replied Lily. 

"No! You don't really believe that, do you?" 

"You'd be suprised. Everybody loves a scandal." 

Catherine was shocked, "Scandal! There's no talk of that, surely?" 

"When it comes out, there will be a scandal, yes." 

"When? But they've kept it so well for about fifteen years now!" 

"You see, tell a secret to one person, and you've already told a whole neighbourhood." 

"But I!-" 

"I wasn't accusing you, dear Catherine! Still, did you really tell _no-one_?" 

She looked guilty, "Well, Bill knows some of it, and Edward and Xanthia have a little of an idea..." 

"See? What if Edward told his delightful girlfriend, Hyacinth? What then? Or if Xanthia let something slip?" 

Catherine stood up angrily, "Edward and Xanthia are perfectly trustworthy! I don't like what you're suggesting." 

"No, you don't, because _you're_ perfectly trustworthy as well, but you told three people!" 

"My family! Does that not mean anything? Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to replan my lessons for tomorrow." 

Lily stood up and made her way to the door, "What will you give them?" 

"Grammar, and more grammar," replied Catherine grimly. 

~~*~~

The telephone rang and Hermione, surrounded by papers, owls, booklets and other clutter, answered it. 

"Hello," said someone, down a very crackerly line. 

"Hello, who's speaking?" Experience had taught her to be careful when people rang up and didn't immediately give their name. 

"Charlie. Charlie Weasley. Is that Hermione?" 

"Charlie! How lovely to hear you! How are you and Maria?" 

"Fine, fine. How are you?" 

"Surviving!" she laughed and he joined in. 

After about five minutes of trivial small talk on topics of mutual interest such as jobs, children, budgeting, plumbing and school, Charlie came to the point. 

"I lost Ron's number, but I found yours instead, and I thought you'd know who to contact," he began. 

She frowned, her quill suspended in mid air. (She had been surreptitiously drafting a letter to the local council on traffic flow on minor country roads during the conversation.) "What exactly do you mean?" 

"Well, last month we had a bit of trouble in Pasnic, where we live." 

"Trouble?" 

"It's probably nothing, but I thought someone should know, and the Auror system in Romania is almost archaic!" 

"Yes, yes! What happened?" 

"There was a volcano, and then it erupted!" 

"A volcano! But there aren't any plate boundaries in Romania! How odd!" 

"It appeared in the middle of the night, a mountain was formed, just like that! And then it started breathing fire, but the fire seemed to fly around the village, and as it passed above us, we felt so cold. I've never been so scared before, Hermione." 

"And then what happened?" 

"The fire seemed to return to the inside of the volcano and it hasn't erupted since." 

"Very odd. And is the mountain still there?" 

"Yes. What do you think I ought to do?" 

Hermione tapped her quill on her desk, "I think you should leave Pasnic as soon as possible, and I think you've done exactly the right thing in ringing me. I'll look into it." 

"Thank-you, I knew I could count on you! Do tell Ron, won't you? His being an auror could be very helpful." 

"I will, Charlie. Rest assured, something will be done..." 

~~*~~

The Boss wanted to see Dea Prejudice and so summoned her to the appropriate chamber. She came promptly at her boss' bidding, full of news. 

"There is trouble in Romania! I have had it from Principa Athena, who was alerted by one of her Domini." 

The Boss' head inclined under a rode of navy blue, "Indeed. Principa Athena? Which Dominus?" 

"Athena didn't say. But I inferred it to be Domina Eowyn. It usually is." 

Domina Eowyn could have had many promotions, but she had turned them all down, preferring to stay as a Domina in the bottom rank. Prejudice was well aware that Eowyn could have overtaken her many times and indeed, already had in the Boss' affections. To all the members of the Department of Mysteries, Eowyn's name was the most well known of all the Domini. Working alongside her partner Dominus Aragorn, they made a formidable team. 

"Well, what shall we do?" asked Prejudice. 

"You tell me. You have reached the highest rank in this Department, and so should make some decisions. Who shall we send out?" 

"Why not send out Eowyn? She started it." 

"I have other plans for Eowyn and Aragorn." 

"You always have other plans for Eowyn and Aragorn! You deal with them through other Dei, but never me! Why not?" 

"Because," said the Boss with a chuckle, "you wish to over-use Eowyn. There is a limit to the number of places a Domina can be at once!" 

"I wish you'd tell me what's so special about Eowyn! You like her so much, and I don't know why! You even made up a code name for her, instead of giving something normal like you do for the rest of us!" 

"No, Dea Prejudice, Tolkein made up her code name. You should read more. Reading's good for you." 

Prejudice glared under her hood, "I've no patience for long novels about an unbelievable fantasy world." 

"Seems like you're rather prejudiced, Prejudice." And the Boss chuckled loudly at the joke. 

"I wish you wouldn't tease me about my name. Do you tease Domina Eowyn about _her_ name?" 

"She's a Domina, obviously I never see her." 

"Huh," sulked the Boss' confidante. 

The Boss seemed to be deliberating something, then said, "Listen, Prejudice, if you are a very good little Dea, then I'll tell you who Eowyn is," dramatic pause, "the day we find Voldemort's Heir!" 

"You-Know-Who left an heir?" almost shouted Prejudice, "impossible!" 

"Possibly. Possibly not. But nevertheless, the day we find him or her, I shall tell you Eowyn's name." 

"I don't believe you know yourself!" 

"Of course I do! I know everything about my Domini and my Principi and my Reges and my Imperatores and my Dei. No-one can hide a secret from the Boss of the Department of Mysteries!" 

~~*~~

_**The Book**_

Wednesday September 2cd 2020, 7:35:19, Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts 

Homework, classes, teachers, homework, more homework, even more homework, lessons, tiring... Well, that's just about the jist of my first day as a working pupil of Hogwarts. Not that I'd not be here... it's just that I think there is a _throw 'em in the deep end an' that'll teach 'em_ attitude towards the first years. 

I was the first awake this morning (obviously- since I was the only one with enough brains to set my alarm for a reasonable hour, or even to set my alarm at all) and got dressed before Jill had even surfaced. Then, when she had eventually reached the land of the living, we had to wait ten minutes for Jack to appear from the boys dormitories. Poor Jack- he has no Cassandra to wake him up. Hmm, I was being sarcastic. 

I took my bag to breakfast. Jill thought this odd, especially since I had packed _all_ my text books into it, since I didn't know which I'd need and I didn't want to have to rush back to the common room to get my books and risk being late for the first lesson. 

Megan gave us our timetables. I have now discovered that receiving a timetable is one of the most exciting events of a day. There is something really thrilling in seeing the names of the people who will be our guides and mentors into the realms of education for the next two years. 

Wednesdays we have Charms with Professor Potter to start with. I was glad we got Grandma. She is Head of Charms after all and the best teacher, so it is said. I shall just have to remember to watch my Ps and Qs and call her 'Professor Potter'. Otherwise I'll be in trouble. After Charms we have French with Professor Delacour. Professor Delacour is the only French teacher who's really French so I'm really lucky that we have her. I'm really looking forward to learning my first foreign language. Mother speaks French, Spanish and Italian fluently, and Catherine is biolingual in about ten different languages. (I suppose it wouldn't be _biolingual_ then. How about dexalingual...?) Father can say 'yes please' in French, German and Italian. Mother keeps enrolling him in language booster courses which really annoys him. 

After break, double Potions with Professor Snape beckoned. I had hoped we might have got Professor Glenn, the new teacher, but no such luck. Still, it is my place to learn the art of Potions, which I intend to do, regardless of who teaches it. Lunch next, then Herbology with Professor Sprout. I don't know anything about her, except that she's very old, and Head of Hufflepuff. Then we return the castle for Theory of Astromony with Professor Perks. 

To round off the day, we have double Quidditch, taught by Professor Brocklehurst, who also teaches Dance and Drama, a minority course for fourth years and above. 

I was the first to Charms, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. After my little performance last night I expected to waltz through Charms. I did. I charmed my feather to levitate four feet before Jack could even find the page in the text book. Professor Potter was really rather cool with me though, maybe she's just trying to be impartial. When I had done it, she merely said, "Oh well done, Cassandra," and immediately turned her attention back to Donna Peterson, who was having unnatural trouble with the pronunciation. There's nothing to the pronunciation of the charm really. It's just a case of practice, (or in _some_ cases, natural ability.) 

In French, we were all rather distracted by Professor Delacour who is half-veela and therefore exquisitely beautiful. This proved quite distracting to the male members of the class which made the female members giggle. All apart from me. I hope I've more sense. I do hope it settles down. 

When Professor Delacour was taking the registrar, she made many comments about each pupil. When she reached me, she got very excited. 

"Aah," she cried, violet eyes shining, "I remember your père... Il est très beau, n'est-ce pas?" She clasped her left hand to her heart and sighed sentimentally, "Une fois, at 'Ogwarts..." 

"You've gone really red, you know," hissed Jill audibly. Jack snorted loudly and tried to turn it into a cough. 

She continued down the registrar and then we started the excercises. This meant getting into pairs. One problem with being a threesome- someone always gets left out. Since there are an odd number in our class, Professor Delacour said she'd work with the odd one out. Jack suddenly decided he'd prefer the teacher to his sister and his best friend. Jill giggled loudly. 

At the end of the lesson, when we were doing our conversation work aloud to the class, Professor Delacour interrupted Jill and I to beam at me and say, "Cassie, ton accent! C'est superbe! Really _naturel_!" 

"Teacher's pet," whispered Jill. I really don't know where she's aquired this annoying habit of saying exactly the wrong things at the wrong times, but I hope she stops. 

After the lesson, Jack was surrounded by all of the boys, and told them all that Professor Delacour had said to him during the lesson. Apparently her Christian name is Fleur, and her whole name means 'Flower of the Court'. How... appropriate. 

"Honestly... boys..." I muttered turning away from the nauseating spectacle to get ready for Potions. 

Potions was in the dungeons. Jack, Jill and I headed right to the back and sat in a threesome. I was very glad that we weren't with the Slytherins. Father told me how, before Hogwarts had expanded and started excepting more students it had been thought a good idea to have some lessons with other houses. Gryffindor always ended up with Slytherin, so it seemed. Now, however, with twenty-five in each class, this is fortunately unnecessary. 

We had barely got out our books when Snape swept into the room, looking very bad tempered. He banged his books down onto his desk. The pupils exchanged glances. I kept my head down. Mother had said not to mess with Snape, and I intended to be very good and not draw attention to myself. 

He glared around the room, and his gaze eventually came to rest on me. I did not realise this until he snapped, "Look up, Miss Potter, when a teacher is looking at you. Try not to be so rude in future." 

What an excellent start! I looked up, very red. Snape was still glaring at me. Then he said, "What do you know about Potions, Potter?" 

My mind went blank, I didn't know a definition of Potions. However, I think I managed it rather well, "Potions is the study of...er...Potions. These are liquids that are brewed by witches and wizards. Potions are very important to the average magician, as they allow them to create effects that might not have been possible with a wand-" 

"Enough, Miss Potter! Tell me, what is the difference between a simple potion, and a compound potion?" 

"A simple potion is one that is created in less than one day and all the ingredients are added at the same time. A compound potion needs more long term work." 

He stared at me and then asked me about another ten similar questions. At the end he seemed oddly satisfied and muttered something which I could not catch. Then he said in a sneering tone, "I say Potter, have you heard of a 'brush'?" 

My jaw dropped. He wasn't making it very easy for me to be polite, "Yes I have. I wonder why you ask? Perhaps you want me to define that as well? I brush my hair twice a day, for your own interest!" 

He turned away and started the lesson moments later. I don't think I'll ever understand what he was going on about. 

His lesson was quite interesting, if he did pick mercilessly on Jack and Jill and almost completely ignored me. He seems to have a grudge against the Weasleys as well as the Potters. 

At the end of the lesson he suddenly said, "You may all pack up apart from Miss Potter. I want a word with her." 

I went to stand at the front of the room by Snape's desk. Eventually he looked up and acknowleged me. Then he surveyed me quietly for a few seconds before beginning in the following way, "You must know Miss Potter, that some people are more desirous aquaintances than others." 

I was hungry and I resented being stuck in the freezing dungeon for longer than was necessary, "Really? Thanks for the information. May I go to lunch now?" 

"I should tell you that this bold and self centred way of speaking will not make you many friends. It is a trait passed down through all the members of the Potter family- just one of their habits that I particuarly loathe about the Potters. It is rash and stupid. It is the surest way of making enemies." 

I fixed what I hoped was a cool, unconcerned stare from my green eyes, "I shall speak exactly as I please and no-one, and especially not a mere teacher shall dictate the way in which I act." 

For some reason he didn't seem angry, "Miss Potter. I don't know if you are quite aware of the precipice on which you stand. I simply wish you to know that you are a fool if you let blind prejudice get in the way." 

"In the way of what?" I wanted to know. 

Snape didn't answer my question. Instead he said, "Miss Potter, your parents have very odd, and in some cases faulty opinions and I would like you to be aware of that." 

"Faulty opinions? Faulty regarding who? You? My parents are my guardians, and as far as I am concerned, they can never be wrong." 

I thought I saw a trace of a smile, "You are young yet, Cassandra. You will learn soon enough that your parents have made very great mistakes!" 

I laughed incredulously, "Indeed? What are they?" 

"Do you want to know? Do you want to spoil the perfect image you have of Sir Harry and Lady Potter? You parents, Miss Potter, are very selfish. They thought of nothing except themselves. They should not have ever got married!" 

"But they loved each other! What do you think they should have done? Eloped to Australia?!" 

The door opened but neither heeded it. 

"Love is not the only thing on Earth to be considered. There is power, and history. And, Miss Potter, there is also the future, something your stupid parents didn't consider when they foolishly married." 

"Professor Snape?" came a voice out of the shadows. 

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Snape snapped angrily. 

The speaker revealed himself to be Nero Malfoy armed with parchment and quill, "Why, you asked to see me about the Advanced Potions class, remember?" He stared with unconcealed curiosity at me. 

"I'll see you in a minute, Malfoy! I'm busy! Miss Potter, I have business to transact. You may leave." 

I tried to think up a good retort, but as often happens, none came to mind at the appropriate moment. I merely turned away and started walking out of the dungeon. 

Snape's voice stopped me, "Remember Potter, few people like a know-it-all." 

I turned round, "I don't know who you're referring to. If it is me, then you are quite mistaken. Much as I would like to know everything, that is obviously an impossible goal to reach by the time you are eleven!" 

I left the room and he didn't stop me again. Jack and Jill were waiting outside and I explained what had happened. Neither of them knew what to think, but Jack said that he thought Snape was a evil vampire bat and was simply out to 'drink my blood'. 

As we were about to leave the dungeon area into the normal thoroughfare of the school, footsteps pounded behind us and Malfoy, out of breath and red faced appeared at our sides. He turned to me, "What was Snape talking to you about back there? What was he telling you about love and power?" 

"None of your business! You shouldn't have been eavesdropping on a private conversation!" 

"You shouldn't conduct your private conversations in a public area! I had an appointment with Snape, I had every right to be there!" 

"Well, perhaps you could have announced yourself instead of standing there in the shadows, listening in!" 

"I'm a Slytherin, you forget Potter. Besides, your conversation with Professor Snape was very interesting. I'm sure, if you had heard such a conversation you would have listened a little." 

"I will not tolerate being insulted in such a way, Malfoy!" I drew myself up to my full height of four feet and five inches. My eyes hit his pointed chin. 

"What are you going to do then?" he drawled lazily. 

Then Jack did something very stupid. He drew his wand and stepped forward to face Malfoy, "I'll fight you, Nero Malfoy! No-one insults my best friend like that and gets away with it!" 

"Jack, no! We'll get into so much trouble!" moaned Jill. 

Then I did something very stupid too, but I _was_ very angry. I gently pushed Jack away and pulled out my own wand, "No, Jack. You won't fight Malfoy. I will fight my own duels. Nero Malfoy, I challenge you to a wizard's duel here and now! Jack is my second. Who's yours?" 

All three of them looked as if I was mad. At last Malfoy said, "I refuse, Potter. I will _not_ duel you!" 

I gasped, "You won't? Why ever not? It'll be a fair fight, I'm good at magic, if I am only on my first day, and I've read all the spells!" 

He sighed, "Put away your wand, little idiot. It's more than it's worth for me. I hate you Potter, but I won't duel you. Try and think before you act in future and maybe then you won't get into trouble so much!" And he walked away. 

I turned to the twins, who looked absolutely incredulous. I asked them what I'd done that was so wrong. 

Jack shook his head, "It's taboo, Cassie. Did you never hear it? _Boys don't fight girls_. It's simply not on. Malfoy would have got into so much trouble if he accepted your challenge." 

"But...but!" I stammered, "What if, say, there was an evil dark wizard, and the one who could defeat him was a girl, what then? Would she be forbidden to fight him?" 

"That's not very likely to happen though," said Jill. 

"It's possible, and I don't think we should rule it out!" 

"Cassie," said Jack, "There's no Dark Wizard, and there are no Buffy the Vampire Slayer type heroines around nowadays." 

"Buffy the _who_?" I said, lost. 

Jill whispered confidentially, "American muggle soap. Don't get him going on it..." 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. In Quidditch, Micky Wood, the half American tomboy suppassed herself. I didn't do badly, infact I did rather well. I don't think I'll ever be as good as Father, but I can fly, which is more than I can say about Jill- she can't even get the broomstick off the ground! 

Tomorrow I intend to explore the library, which I have heard so much about. I shall probably need it, with all my homework... 

Now for music practise and then bed. I'm worn out. 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

~~*~~

Cassandra did not write in her diary the next day. Life at boarding school was paying its toll on the first year Gryffindors. She _did_ however, explore the library and was not displeased with what she saw. Having been accustomed to the small, but convenient and cosy library at Two Towers, she was astonished and happy to find one so much larger, impressive, quiet, supressed and generally more libraryish at school. Though she did not spend all of her time there (as others had chosen to do before her) she did spent a large proportion of her spare time there (especially when the Peterson twins had their wireless play their favourite rock group, Sexy Porridge, too loudly in the common room. 

Cassandra soon became known as the year's resident eccentric. She did not like Sexy Porridge, she prefered French to Astronomy, she did extra work for Professor Snape and she had a temper like a bad tempered wasp when roused but was as meek as dormant butterfly the rest of the time. 

Cassandra was the only person in the year who had brought with her an oboe and a violin. Donna Peterson played the piano, and her twin Dora learned the guitar, and they performed as well as most eleven year females from Manchester can be expected to play but apart from them and Jimmy Forrester who could whistle, the first year Gryffindors were hardly a musical lot. They would queue up to listen to her running up and down three octaves of D flat dominant sevenths, though they prefered it when she played concertos... 

Cassandra went on regular visits to the cluttered office of Professor Shortstraw where she would update her god mother and her grandmother on her progress while Lily made tea and Catherine did overdue marking and tutted about people who didn't learn their vocabulary. Sometimes Xanthia came with her, but Cassandra prefered it when she didn't. Xanthia and her mother were so much at odds at the moment that having the two in the same room created quite a lot of tension. 

The term rushed by far too quickly for Cassandra, and soon she was packed off to the Burrow for Christmas. Every five years there was a large Weasley family reunion where anyone who was remotely related the Weasleys (and a lot of people like the Potters who weren't) came for one of Molly Weasley's smashing Christmas house parties. There was no excuse for not attending one. 

That year, _everyone_ came. All Arthur and Molly's children turned up with their families, from Charlie and Maria with their good looking son Ivan and their pretty daughter Helina coming all the way from Romania, to Ginny and John Farrel and their son Richard and daughters Bobbie and Alex who weren't yet at Hogwarts. 

The adults all seemed to be interested in Charlie and Maria's move from the small village of Pasnic in Romania to another dragon reserve in Russia. However, the young people were mostly interested in Ivan and Helina. Cassandra couldn't understand the big deal. They were, she admitted, good looking in a very East European way, but nothing to make such a fuss about. Jenny said that she would understand when she was older, and Jill just giggled. 

Cassandra found, as the year progressed, that she was growing futhur apart from Jill than ever before. She seemed to have changed. She became more interested in boys, fashion, makeup and she liked Sexy Porridge (or said she did). She started saying that Cassandra was childish, immature and boring. She became better friends with Dora and Donna, the twins, and hardly ever spent any time with Jack and Cassandra. Those two would sit with their books in the common room and complain to each other. 

"You're a _proper_ girl, Cassie," Jack would grumble, "I don't know what I'd do with out you." 

After the Easter holidays the first years started their revision for the exams. Pressure was put on from teachers, pupils, parents, friends and relations. The weather got hotter, the pupils were miserable and the teachers overworked. 

Professors Delacour and Maxime were particularly under pressure, for they were trying to organize the next year's French exchange trip. This took place every three years, and was limited to the top twenty French students in the fifth, sixth and seventh years. Edward Weasley had very much wanted to go, and was over the moon to be chosen. His girlfriend Hyacinth mourned him, since he would be away at Beauxbatons from September to after Christmas, before returning with his exchange partner, a boy called Louis Martinique. 

Cassandra did very well in her exams, however unpleasant the weather was. Her top subjects were French, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration and Charms but she did very well in the rest of them. Her Potions' mark was her lowest- only 78%. Snape seemed to be marking the papers very unfairly since he gave Kim a mark for exactly the same answer that Cassandra had put. When the latter enquired into this he pointed out some subtlety of expression that had escaped the girls' attention and took points off Gryffindor for Cassandra's cheek. 

The harder Cassandra tried, the more Snape seemed to dislike her. She wrote three extra rolls of parchment for an essay and he told her off, she answered questions meant for others and he took off points, she did extra research and he humiliated her in front of the class. "Don't you think I have better things to do than mark your extra work?" he said. "When I ask for three rolls of parchment, I expect three rolls of parchment, not seven! There are twenty-five people in this class, Miss Potter, and twenty-five in the first year Slytherin group. If each pupil writes three rolls of parchment how many rolls of parchment do I have to mark? Tell me that, Miss Potter!" 

"One hundred and fifty, Professor," whispered Cassandra. 

"One hundred and fifty!" he cried banging his fist on his desk, "Do what I set, Miss Potter, no more, no less and I shall be satisfied. I shall have to take some more points off if you give me extra work again." 

Cassandra never gave in more than the required number of pages after that; she made her writing smaller. 

Ravenclaw won the house cup, but Gryffindor was in second place. Cassandra was very sorry to be going home, for she loved Hogwarts, but she was looking forward to seeing her parents. 

That year the Potters were going to Hungary. Cassandra enjoyed it very much, especially the gypsy violinists and the language, which was quite different from either English or French. She did her homework on the plane. 

Cassandra had finished _Lord of the Rings_ the previous Christmas, and she had enjoyed it very much. The most interesing thing she had found about it was the connection between the second book, which was called _The Two Towers_ and the new name of Brassington Hall, also called Two Towers. 

Tolkein's two towers, Cassandra found out, referred to Minas Morgul- home of Sauron's dreadful Ringwraiths and Orthanc, ancient home of the great band of wizards of good. But Brassington Hall was home to neither a Dark Lord, nor a great good wizard and Cassandra couldn't understand the connection. 

After the long summer holidays Cassandra was glad to return to Hogwarts. She found that once you've started in a very busy routine like school then it is hard to get used to not having an action packed life. The summer holidays had seemed for the first time... empty. 

For the first time Cassandra, Jack and Jill weren't the youngest students. The only first year that they knew, was Richard Farrel, Jack and Jill's cousin. He was sorted into Gryffindor. 

Donna and Dora came back with tales of their father's new girlfriend. Aparently she worked by giving talks to senior school muggles about puberty and sex. She had spent the whole summer lecturing the twins and they now knew more on these subjects than the average adult. They would retire giggling into a corner with Jill to boy-gaze and talk 'girl talk'. Cassandra read anything she could get her hands on, and Jack sat around doing nothing and distracting the others. 

One of the other members of the Gryffindor second year was Kim Fortune. She loved Astronomy. Her first year Astronomy mark had been so high that she had received permission from Professor Perks to spend Saturday nights stargazing on the Astronomy Tower. Another pupil with such an interest was Felix Lorrimer, a Hufflepuff, and Kim and Felix soon became good friends. 

One time Kim, who was friendly with Cassandra took her up with them and they spent the night wrapped up in blankets eating sandwiches and surveying the universe. 

It was the first time Cassandra had met Felix, and she liked him. He was quite short, had brown hair and a happy face. 

"Look, Cassandra," he said, passing her his omnioculars, "I can see the plough. It's very clear tonight." 

"I see it," she passed them back. 

Felix held it up towards the sky and sighed with contentment, "I see such odd things in the stars, Cassandra! They tell me things." 

"Never mind him, he thinks he's got second sight," said Kim, her eyes glued to her telescope. 

Cassandra shivered and pulled her blanket closer, "What sort of things do you see?" 

He glanced towards her, "Oh, all sorts of things! It's all very fuzzy, like I'm looking out of someone else's glasses. Sometimes I see what is, sometimes what was, and sometimes what will be." 

Cassandra laughed, "That's a quote from _Lord of the Rings_, you know. Galadriel said it." 

"Oh, I don't remember that." 

She looked up sharply, "You've read it?" 

"Well, yes! I really enjoyed it." 

Cassandra did not reply, but she felt rather awkward for the rest of the night and somehow it slipped her mind to ask him exactly what he saw in the stars. 

Second years could try out for the Junior Quidditch Team and Cassandra was soon excepted as their new seeker. Since Hogwarts had expanded a great deal in the last twenty years, instead of their being only one team for each house, there were now three. A Junior team for second and third years, an Intermediate team for fourth and fifth years and a Senior Team for sixth and seventh years. There was also a house team that the best players from the house were invited to join. Xanthia now a fourth year, was pleased to be accepted to join this team as Keeper. 

The first Junior game took place in October, Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Nero Malfoy was the Slytherin seeker, but Gryffindor won. However, even Cassandra had to admit that Malfoy was quite a good player. His sister did not play quidditch. 

The French exchange left in mid September in a flurry of excitement and hype. They left by flying cabins carried by dragons, provided by a deal with the Department of Transport and Charlie's dargons. Martin left with them, and Catherine's spirit also went. Catherine had wanted to visit Beauxbatons for as long as she could remember, but being neither French nor a French teacher, she had no right to go there. Still, every three years when the trip left she wished that she could see that famous magic school. She had heard much about it, how it was a wonderful chateau; bigger and more ornate than Chambourd itself and she longed to go there. 

Still, a new group or two of eager third year classics students beckoned her and perhaps the _Confundius-Sinclaire Magical Battle Simulation Kit_ might just work for them. Under Lily's expert training she had just about understood Conditional Charms, though getting them to function smoothly and effectively in front of a group of critical thirteen year old Slytherins was quite another matter. 

After Christmas that year, the second years found themselves under a great deal of pressure from their teachers. The fact was that they had to sign up for the subjects they were going to take for their OWLs. Since Lady Potter had taken command of the syllabuses they became much tighter. The number of subjects taken was ridgidly controled, the options were no longer completely free for the pupils to choose, and the work covered was monitored even more carefully than before. The pupils would choose three options from a list of seven in their second year, and another subject in their third year. This meant that a total of twelve subjects were taken in the fifth year. 

If anyone complained to Ministry that the pupils were being overworked, they were presented with a list of facts and figures that showed at a very quick glance that children were doing better than ever before in exams, learning more, achieving more and getting better jobs than before the new syllabuses were introduced. If Lady Potter neglected to inform the person about the rising rates of depression, nervous breakdowns and suicide among teenage wizards, then she was only doing her job. The complainer would look at the figures in admiration and would immediately become a convert to the ever growing group of fans of Lady Potter. 

Lady Potter was ambitious. What exactly she wanted nobody quite knew, but she was now the most powerful woman in Britain, if not in the whole magical world. She was the chief school govenor, she was a member of the select govering comittee, she was head of a department, she was the richest woman in England and she was married to Harry Potter. Fortune could not be more on her side. 

Where her riches came from, nobody knew. She had millions of galleons, Harry had billions, and it was growing bigger every month. Some said they had a private income, though what it was no-one could guess, some said the Potters were blackmailing someone, though who and why was also unknown. 

Some also wondered what her daughter knew. Whether Cassandra was aware that she was heiress to over five billion galleons was a question pondered by many. 

Whatever Cassandra did or did not know did not matter to most people. They would follow her Ladyship to the grave and beyond if necessary. There was only one sceptic of importance and that was Ron Weasley. Whenever Lady Potter proposed something or converted someone, he was always there like a bee buzzing round her trying to persuade otherwise. 

He lay awake at night worrying about her. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, "take over the world?" 

"Don't be silly!" she would reply and change the subject quickly. 

His wife took a far more positive line towards it. "She can't go further," she said. 

"Why not?" inquired Ron. 

"She wouldn't have the nerve." 

"Pah! Nerve!" 

"Yes, nerve! She's got this far, with ninety per cent of England at her feet. She couldn't go further." 

"Yes she could! You don't know what I do, and I tell you, she could!" 

He left the room and slammed the door. 

Lisa Weasley called after him, her hands on her hips, "I know a great deal more than you think, Ronald Weasley!" 

Cassandra knew nothing of politics, and she wasn't interested then to find out anything. She was trying to choose her options. Her parents, her teachers, the Weasleys and older students all advised her and the only thing they agreed on was not to do Divination. 

She had to choose between Care of Magical Creatures and Latin for one option. For the second subject she could do either Arithmancy or Divination. The last subject was a choice between Ancient Runes, Muggle Studies or Experimental Charms. 

All the heads of departments gave a lecture to the students to pursuade them to take their subject. Arithmancy was the only subject Cassandra found easy to choose, mainly because the alternative was Divination. The Arithmancy teacher, an oldish woman nearing retirement age was called Professor Vector. She seemed very strict and had some very old fashioned ways of addressing the class. She showed the year what Cassandra thought was a beautiful proof about something called Psychic Quadrilaterals. She had always loved Maths at her Junior School, though she had found the work too easy, and she was certain she would enjoy the combination of magic, mathematics and language that was Arithmancy. 

She dithered between Experimental Charms and Ancient Runes (Muggle Studies did not appeal). Runes, she thought looked fascinating. She wanted to learn as many languages as possible and having to learn a whole new script sounded like fun. However, Experimental Charms seemed probably more 'important' for a witch like herself. It was a relatively new subject that dealt with the discovery and creation of previously unknown charms. At last she choose Experimental Charms. 

The hardest decision she made was between Care of Magical Creatures and Latin. She wanted to do both, and knew she would be letting someone down whichever subject she chose. Hagrid was a very close friend of her parents, and Cassandra liked him very much as well. Professor Shortstraw was her godmother and her mother's best friend. 

It was Xanthia who really made up her mind, "For goodness sake, Cassandra, don't chose the subject because of the teacher! Take the subject that you think you'll enjoy the most! Not what your parents think you should do, not what Jack and Jill want to do, but what _you_, in your heart of hearts, want to do." 

"But I want to do both!" 

"Do you really? Forget about Mum and Hagrid. Which subject have you been leaning towards all the time, even if you thought you should keep your options open for the other?" 

Cassandra did not reply, but signed up for Latin. 

Jack and Jill couldn't believe Cassandra's choices. They were both doing Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies. "You're mad," said Jack encouragingly. "Arithmancy is the hardest subject apart from Ancient Runes." 

"So why are you taking it, Jack?" 

"Er, because it's not Divination?" 

"I'd have really thought you'd lost it if you took Runes as well," said Jill. 

"I was dithering," admitted Cassandra, "but I choose Ex. Charms." 

"Apparently you have to write loads for that and it's really boring!" said Jill. "Martin's doing it and he says you have to write twenty rolls of parchment on the safety precautions you're going to use when testing a new charm, and then another twenty pages at the end to explain whether the safety had worked." 

"Exaggeration," said Cassandra airily. She stood up and went off to her dormitory. She liked her options and, as Xanthia had so justly put it, that was the important thing. 

~~*~~

Wormtail staggered under the weight of the body. He pushed him into the room and slammed the door shut, disturbing some cobwebs. Rita followed him in and wrinkled her pretty nose. "Urgh, Peter! Why ever did you choose this rotten dump?" 

"Because." 

"Well, that's not a very good reason, is it now? For god's sake, it's a _sewer_!" 

"Exactly," replied Peter, still panting slightly, "No-one will ever find us." 

"It stinks." 

Wormtail ignored her and gazed down on the body of Alexander Johnson, ex-Professor of Transfiguration and the most prestigeous member of that department seen for quite a while. He had been dead quite a long time, and was starting to smell, though not as much as the sewers. 

Rita grimaced, "I _hate_ dead bodies." 

"You must have come into contact with them quite frequently in your job, don't you?" 

"That doesn't make me like it any more. I always have to put up a brave front when I'm reporting." She took a few steps towards him, "It's only with you that I feel I can really be myself!" 

Peter licked his lips nervously, "Really?" he stuttered. He loved being admired, and Rita was very good at it. 

"Uh huh." She stood next to him and fingured the collar of his robes, "You know Peter. That silver hand of yours is really...very becoming." 

"You think so?" 

"Hmm... You're so clever, Peter. I know you'll do anything so well. You were the Dark Lord's right hand man for years, weren't you?" 

"I was! Before... you know." 

"It was such a pity that he had to die. But you're going to carry on his work, aren't you, hon?" She caressed his lapel, smiling. 

Peter nodded dumbly. 

"You just need Professor Johnson's information and then you can raise the biggest and most invicible army ever before! An army of rats! And I shall have revenge on the Potters. Twice they have exposed me to ridicule and made me lose my job. Not any more! You and I shall conquer the world." 

"The world is not enough..." 

She smiled and kissed him passionately. 

The door burst open and a woman strode into the room, rats scurrying away in fright and causing the lovers to jump apart in suprise. She pulled off her black cloak and hung it on a make shift hook. "Am I interrupting anything?" she asked, eyebrows raised ironically. 

Rita moved away and batted her eyelids, "Not at all, Ma'am!" 

The newcomer knelt down by the body and felt his pulse. "Peter, he's dead. I told you I wanted him alive. Alive means animate- still breathing, you idiot! What use is he dead? For goodness sake, get a brain, Pettigrew!" 

"Nefarius bungled it. I'm sorry." 

"Sorry? I should think so too! I hope Nefarius is sorry as well. A cabbage leaf has more intelligence than him! He may have ruined all our plans." 

"Surely not!" gasped Rita, "Whatever shall we do, Ma'am?" 

"You tell me. You've had ample time to ponder on that before I came." 

"Perhaps he wrote something down..." mumbled Rita. 

"Well, find it then!" 

"Why don't you?" sulked Peter. 

"Because only people like you who bear uncanny resemblences to overcooked rice pudding are at all suitable for this job. I've got better things to do." 

"Excuse me, what's your name?" said Rita. 

The woman froze. 

"Your real name, I mean. I'm pretty sure it's not Jane Smith." 

"I must have neglected to mention it," she said after a pause, while still combing thoroughly through Professor Johnson's pockets. 

"Are you going to tell us then?" 

"I don't think so." 

"Why not?" 

"I like Jane Smith. Besides, surely I have a choice to whom I reveal my name?" 

"Of course you do," mused Peter. "I was just thinking. You're roughly the right age to be-" he lowered his voice, "-the Dark Lord's mistress." 

Rita gasped. 

The woman's laughter rang out loudly, "Goodness me, Peter! Are you still going on about that? You're obssessed!" 

"Lord Voldemort never found out who either of them was. He would have liked, I am sure, for me to continue his hard work." 

"Give it up, Peter. You'll never find either of them." 

"Do you, do you remember... her, at all?" whispered Rita. 

"The Lady? Yes, a bit. She was rather short, she had coal black hair..." he stared at the woman in consternation. "Say, Jane or whatever your name is, do you have a sister?" 

"No, I don't think so." She covered her mouth with her hand to stop the laughter escaping. She coughed hard and blamed it on the dust. 

~~*~~

Lady Potter leaned over and pulled out a heavy book from the library shelves. Harry watched her from the bottom of the stepladder. 

"Got it!" she said triumphantly. She jumped off the ladder and sat down in one of armchairs. "Now, listen carefully. I'm not sure if we'll find anything in here, but this is where it'll be if it's anywhere." 

"Can we believe Charlie's account completely? He may have been exaggerating." 

"We must take that into account, of course. However, whatever that Volcano was it was enough to make him leave Romania. I'm inclined to believe him." 

"Have you any idea what it might have been?" 

"The fire? None whatever," she replied sadly. "Living fires aren't my speciality, which is why we're going to prioritise researching them." 

"We?" 

"Yes, I'll find you something to do. And anyone else, for that matter. Ron can help... who else?" 

"Would you really get anyone else into it?" 

"I would trust Ron with my life, you know that Harry." 

"I hope it never comes to that," he replied gravely. 

"Do you think it's that serious?" 

He sighed, "We must be cautious. I treat anything like this with great caution. I would have thought you would as well." 

She stood up and tucked the book under her arm, "I'm going to bed. I haven't got any sleep for about three days." 

"What have you been doing?" 

She glared at him, "Doing my duty at the Department of Mysteries. Unlike some people who just pop in once a month to check for non-existent post, I actually spend time there." 

Harry shook his head, "You have too many jobs." 

She stifled a yawn and opened the door, "I'm just busy." 

She entered her room, changed and got into bed. She put the book on her bedside table, turned off her light and closed her eyes. To sleep, or _perchance to dream..._

~~*~~

_ "What do you mean, you're going to marry him?" The speaker was a tall, regal, pale man with the blackest of black hair. _

"You heard what I said," the girl said steadily. She was just twenty. Her face was pale, her eyes a dark, shrewd brown and her hair was glossy black. They were clearly related. 

"But- but, Elena, he's a Gryffindor!" 

"I'm aware of that." 

"I am not letting you marry a snobbish British baron, Elena! You are a Slytherin, and you should be proud of it!" 

She tossed her head and stood up, plucked a flower from a nearby pot and twirled it between her fingers, "Well, I'm not proud of it. I loathe your name, Lucius, and the day I can abandon mine in favour of Simon's I shall be very happy. I can then forget my family!" 

"Ungrateful wretch! Think what Father and I did to bring you up properly, and look how you've turned out! You are a disgrace to the name of Slytherin! Father would turn in his grave if he knew about this!" 

"It's a good thing he was cremated then, isn't it? Really Lucius, I wonder you're taking so much of your time up with me. You're just wasting it. I am quite decided. I shall marry Simon Gryffindor and that's the end of it!" 

"You were my sister, Elena," Lucius said sadly, "is that all changed? We played together." 

"I regret it. I hate you. Goodbye, Lucius. If you don't give your consent, then I shall marry without it." She tossed the flower into the pond as she crossed the peristyle and left the garden without a backwards glance. 

~~*~~__

**Chapter Four**:_ An ancient telescope, a political meeting, Nero Malfoy gets involved. _

Please review!! 

Silvestria 


	5. IV

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(4/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 4 __

'Hier ist zu lang kein Krieg gewesen.- It's too long since there's been a war here.'- Bertolt Brecht, Mother Courage and her Children 

**_ The Book_**

Saturday, 3rd September 2022, 20:46:32, Gryffindor Common Room 

There's trouble brewing. On the fifth of July French archaeologists found a golden, magical telescope in North France. Exactly what it was doing in a potato field near Lille nobody quite knows, but it has been identified as being made in Roman Britain. (Catherine tells us that it has to be magical, because the muggles had not then invented them.) The only thing is, it has words written on it that no-one understands. They are not written in any known script or language, either magical or muggle. The telescope itself appears to be perfectly ordinary. 

The problems started when the French Minister of Magic, Phillipe Sandrier, decided to put the telescope on display in Beauxbaton's school. Our current Minister, a Larry Chalep, choose to take offense at that and has been publicly critiscizing M. Sandrier. Apparently they are old enemies. 

Still, says Mother, they should put aside childish differences of opinion and stop this ridiculous argument. 

The main problem is that Chalep has stirred up a great sense of Nationalism in the hearts of the British over the telescope business. 

"The telescope," says the English population, "was made in England and so should remain in England. The French have no right to hole it up in secret in their school!" 

Mother argues against this. She also disagrees with the archaeological evidence. "Perhaps it was made in France. They made a mistake." 

The Department of Magical Heritage showed her the written report; it was conclusive. The telescope was made in North England around the year 245AD. 

The French responded in an outraged way. They found the telescope, and so should keep it. _The Daily Prophet_ screamed in reply that the French were behaving selfishly and had a corrupt, tyranical and fascist leader! 

"They're strong words to use lightly!" said Mother, brow creased in frustration one breakfast as she prowled up and down the dining room wearing out the pile carpet, a piece of toast in one hand, the Daily Prophet in her other and Josie the phoenix fluttering about her. 

"Sit down," said Father quietly. 

She made no sign that she'd even heard him, and continued pacing. 

"Sit down," repeated Father more decisivly. 

I opened my Transfiguration textbook and pretended to concentrate on it. 

"I'll sit or stand as I please!" snapped Mother. She was trembling all over with rage. "How dare he! How dare he! Corrupt, tyranical and fascist! If there's one person to apply those words to, it's Larry Chalep himself! Why can't we have Mundungus Fletcher back again! He was the best Minister we ever had! But Chalep is worse than Cornelius Fudge himself and that's saying a lot! Someone must get rid of him! Why can't Marisa rebel again? We need someone- someone brave enough, someone with enough good sense and someone who can manage power without abusing it!" 

Father sighed, "You're looking for the perfect Minister, and you won't find him!" 

Mother licked the jam spoon, "You never know." 

At that moment an owl flew flew through the open French windows and landed on Mother's wrist. She tore open the envelope and all the colour left her cheeks. Father turned to her and said, his voice seeming to come from far away, "What is it? Who's it from?" 

"From Charlie," she gasped and turned to me, "Cassandra, I think you had better leave the room." 

I made eye contact with her and did not reply. "Cassandra," she said, "did you hear me?" 

I stood up still meeting her eyes, "Oh I heard you all right! And I will _not_ leave the room! Why must I be excluded? Am I not a member of this family just as you are? I shall stay." 

Mother's eyes were burning like hot coals. She drew herself up a few inches and power radiated from her. We maintained eye contact. I could feel the power hitting the backs of my eyes and it hurt. Then suddenly something snapped and for a second everything shone into fine focus, as if I had received new glasses. Colours became more vivid I could see everything about my mother; everything that was hidden was revealed. For a split second, before my vision was clouded, I knew my mother better than anyone else on earth. Abruptly, with the force of an electric shock it was gone and I clutched my head; it ached so much. When I looked up my parents were staring at me still, they had hardly noticed anything. 

My vision returned to normal, only it seemed that when I turned to look at my mother that I could see more about her than before. Odd little details that had previously escaped my notice were now glaringly obvious; the rings under her eyes, the strand of hair that had escaped her bun. I turned to my father and he too seemed different in an indescribable way. It was all over in a fraction of a second. 

"Leave the room please, Cassandra," said Mother again. 

"It's about the fire in Romania two years ago, isn't it?" I asked, suddenly sure of this. 

"How did you know?" inquired Mother sharply. 

"I don't know how. I just know..." I trailed off. Actually it was one of the things I had seen a few seconds before but I did not tell Mother. Except for when I swapped Milly Malfoy's handcream for bubotuber puss, I told my parents most things. Even five minutes before I would have told them about my change of perspective. Now, never. 

I stood up and slammed my book shut, "Fine. I'll go. It's obvious you don't want me." 

I left the room and was walking away when an idea struck me. I hesitated and put my ear to the door. They were talking quietly, but I could hear most of what they were saying. 

"So you see," said my mother, "you understand why I am worried." 

My father made an interesting noise like 'umph', then said, "But you must have some idea what it is! You can't _not_ have an idea!" 

No reply then, "I don't know," spoken so quietly and sadly I could hardly hear it. 

There was a long pause where my parents spoke too quietly for me to hear then I heard a chair being scraped back. My mother said in her normal voice, "I'm going down to DOM now! I must tell Catherine about this!" 

"Catherine gets an extra grey hair every time you speak to her!" 

"Too bad! It's her job to listen to her Domini! And _I_ am a model Domina!" 

Her voice approached the door. I quickly sped into the adjacent room; the library, flopped down into a leather armchair and grabbed the nearest book and pretended to read it. 

Mother's footsteps passed the door and I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I had time to reflect on what I had heard. 

There was something about that letter that worried me as well as my parents. All I knew was that it was about a volcano that erupted in a strange manner two years ago. That it should be dragged up again now struck me as odd. 

Other children might run to their parents, demanding to know what happened. Perhaps I'm not like other children; perhaps my parents aren't like other parents. I know what the answer would be if I asked my mother: a detailed explanation, an imperceptible change of subject of sunject and then I would be left knowing hardly hardly anything more than before. It is an art, I think, to be able to avoid questions like that. 

My father is less subtle. If there is a question that he doesn't how to answer, or whether to answer it at all, he goes red and refers me to Mother. They think I don't notice, but I do. Or perhaps, perhaps they do know that I know but they act as if they don't. In that respect they behave like my teachers. Professor Harker, for example, seems not to notice when Jack is obviously sucking a sugar quill or if the Peterson twins are passing notes. I mentioned that to Catherine once, perhaps unwisely for she is a teacher herself, and she replied with a hollow laugh, "Oh you think we don't notice!" 

I know now that there are things my parents do not want me to know. For thirteen whole years I have ignored it, but I can do so no longer. How could I have been so ignorant! 

Mother opened the library door. She had on a coat and was smiling. The brightness of said smile was not lost on me. "I'm going out for a bit, Cassandra. You'll be all right?" 

"And Father?" I said in my stupidest tone. 

"We're _both_ going out," she replied. "We'll be back by lunch time at the latest. If you get lonely you can send Josie to the Weasleys. You could do some homework." 

"I did it all in early July, as you know." 

"Well, find a good book. The morning will fly away!" She started to close the door. 

"I say Mother," I said suddenly, "Are you going to see Catherine by any chance?" 

She paused and frowned, "Why do you ask? Do you want to speak to her?" 

"Yes," I said firmly, "about a translation I was doing." 

Mother smiled, "You'll see her at school. Now I really must go. Bye Cassandra." 

I gave her a mock salute, "Salve, domina!" 

She froze, "_What_ was that?" 

I smiled innocently, "Just saying goodbye in Latin." 

She nodded, "Salve!" She closed the door quietly behind her. Immediately I started kicking the table and singing loudly, "Dom dom dom dom!" 

The footsteps in the passage stopped and after a second's silence Mother called, "For goodness sake is that you, Cassandra? Stop that racket! You're making a noise fit to wake the dead! Act your age and settle to something!" 

I sighed and pushed myself deeper into the leather armchair. I may not have learned much from that conversation, but it was interesting to see Mother's reactions to the words, 'Catherine, domina and 'dom''. I don't understand what my parents were talking about, but Catherine is connected with it and that surprises me. Catherine has a brain like a seive. 

I looked at the book I had picked up. It was called, _A Century of Magic- 1900 to 2000_' by asorted authors. It was open right at the end. On the year 1999. 

I was about to close it when a photo caught my attention; it was of my father as a teenager. He was dressed in scarlett quidditch robes and was looking shiftily from left to right and vice versa, as if in search of an escape route. 

He wasn't alone in the photograph. On his right was another young man. He had olive skin, black hair and was scowling heavily. The object of his glare was on his left: my father. No wonder he wanted to be elsewhere! On his other side was a very handsome youth, smiling and wearing yellow quidditch robes. Seated below them was a girl and my eyes widened as I recognised her: Professor Delacour! She looked almost the same as now; just as beautiful. She tossed her hair at the handsome boy. Father pushed his glasses up his nose; they slipped straight down. 

I looked at the caption. _The 1999 Triwizard Champions taken after the second task. From left to right- Viktor Krum for Durmstrang, Harry Potter and Cedric Diggory for Hogwarts and seated Fleur Delacour for Beauxbatons._

So I read about the Triwizard Tournament of that year, about how the cup was a portkey, how Cedric Diggory was killed by Voldemort and how my father escaped through something called Priori Incantatem. I understand now why he doesn't talk about his schooldays much. 

We returned to school two days ago. _Everybody_ has been talking about the telescope. Snape took ten points off Gryffindor yesterday because Emilia and her friend Carmen picked a fight with Kirsty and Esmée about it. Don't we all hate Snape! 

On Friday I had my first Arithmancy and Latin lessons. (I shan't have Experimental Charms until Tuesday.) We have Arithmancy with the Ravenclaws. They are very clever and we have to work hard. We were looking at some simple equations, like 7x + 5 = 40. Since I had studied my textbook in the holidays I found these child's play. Still, there was the pleasure in doing a completely new subject. I dare say the novelty will wear off soon enough. 

Latin we have with the Slytherins which is enough to ruin anybody's day. In particular are the three Slytherin 'queens': Emilia Malfoy, Carmen Strutby and Emma Tiscali. Carmen and Emma merely fool around, but Emilia can be really malicious. They were quieter, however, after Catherine split them up, made Emilia sit in front of her desk and took a point off Slytherin. It was going to be a long year. The only good thing I could see about the arrangement of the class was that it meant that Emilia, Carmen and Emma are not in Hagrid's Care of Magical Creatures Class. Somehow I think Professor Shortstraw is better suited for dealing with idiots. The lesson itself was interesting, if short. 

I need not have worked myself up about Charlie's letter. Soon the contents were known to everybody. It was splattered across the front pages of every newspaper that a volcano had erupted in Romania filled with magical fire that seemed to have a mind of its own. 'But that's not possible, is it?' asks reporter Rita Skeeter of _The Comet_ (with an incredulous smile I imagine). Two auror divisions under the respective commands of Sirius and Arabella Black were sent out to sort out the situation. ('How we misjudged that brave Sirius Black all those years ago. I've heard he's a brilliant auror, not to mention _rather_ handsome! Such a disappointment for all us girls when he married!') Rita's articles are always entertaining, if a little exagerrated. 

As far as I know my parents are still in England, but Ron and Lisa Weasley have gone. Ron is an auror and Lisa works as an interpreter. 

I have been voted as quidditch captain for the junior team. I am very pleased. Xanthia has been made a prefect. Suprisingly she is quite happy about it. I think she's plotting something. That girl should pay more attention to her school work. She will do her OWLs at the end of this year. Edward is Head Boy so Catherine is very happy. 

_ Saturday 10th September 2022, 12:45:59, Gryffindor Common Room_

Xanthia was caught taking 200 points off a Slytherin first year for stepping on her toe by accident. She has had her prefect priviledges removed for two weeks. Prof. Shortstraw very annoyed and gave us too much homework. Auror division still in Romania. Weather horrible. 

_ Saturday 17th September 2022, 15:17:36, Gryffindor Common Room_

We won the first quidditch match of the season. Gryffindor Juniors versus Ravenclaw Juniors. All the credit obviously goes to me as captain! I have sent Portia to Father to tell the good news. He was seeker and captain for Gryffindor as well. 

France and England still at each other's throats. Unfortunately rising political tension does not affect school work. Whose brilliant idea was it to give us one week (ONE WEEK!) for a five foot long essay on 'Safety Precautions Before Investigations into New Charms' when he knows we have a quidditch match?? (Actually it was Professor Wilkins, our darling Experimental Charms teacher.) Felix is already muttering about wax models and drawing pins. 

It is our first ever Hogsmeade weekend. Can I go when I've still got French, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic and Latin to do? Answer: NO. 

_21:15:41_

J'aimais tu aimais il/elle aimait amabamus amabatis amabant. Oh dear...

_Tuesday 1st November 2022, 16:08:28, Gryffindor Common Room_

The best about Halloween is that we don't get homework! Jack, Felix and Kim took me into Hogsmeade for the first time. We went to the joke shop with Jack to greet his uncles, then we visited the clothes shop, sweet shop, antique shop, Shrieking Shack and book shop. We wound up with a delicious butterbeer in _The Three Broomsticks_. I like Hogsmeade. 

It was a good thing that the morning was so much fun, because the afternoon was rather tense. 

Plenty of students went into the village yesterday and as we were walking back to the castle a group of girls of about our age passed us by. Felix looked back and nudged us. "Look at them! What do you think?" 

Jack turned, nodded, went red and made an odd sound like 'Hmmmph'. It was my turn now. I too looked after. I couldn't think what they expected me to say. I frowned, "Well, I think they must be pretty stupid to wear such short skirts in such cold weather. They'll freeze!" 

The two boys stared at me as if I was crazy. Suddenly Kim grabbed my arm so hard it hurt. "You think you're funny?" she hissed at me and yanked me towards the castle. I had never seen her so angry. "What the hell do you think you were doing?" she cried, addressing the boys. They ran to catch us up. I pulled my arm out of Kim's grip. 

"What do you mean- what the hell do you think you were doing?" inquired Felix just as angrily. 

"Girl gawking, of course! Why don't you get your telescope and really stare? As Cassie said they're wearing so little you'll be able to really-" 

"But I wasn't-" interrupted Jack. 

"And you can go to Down Under! And I _wasn't_ referring to Australia!" 

Jack shrugged and looked away. I bit my lip. There was an awkward silence. Kim seemed to have calmed down. At last she said quietly, "Felix, do you really think they were pretty?" 

He shrugged, "Do you have a problem with that? Actually I did think they were pretty. It's only natural to think that! I'm thirteen, for heaven's sake! What do you want, Kim- that I should conceal all my feelings? You're not being very friendly or considerate in my opinion." 

Kim burst into tears and ran off. 

Felix looked after, pained. Jack looked blank, "What's bitten her?" 

"I don't have the foggiest idea." 

If Donna or Dora had been there they would have been able to supply a reason. "Raging hormones coursing through her cause unexpected tears and irrational mood swings." They know everything now that their father's girlfriend teaches sex education. 

As it was, I said, "I think- I think she's jealous." 

Felix looked astonished, "_Jealous_? But- but of what?" 

"Er, of your saying you liked those girls." 

"But you're not jealous, are you Cass?" 

"Of course not!" 

"Humph!" said Jack. 

"Well!" Felix was flummoxed. "How odd! Girls do behave irrationally sometimes, don't they?" 

I coughed loudly. 

"I mean some girls. You're a sport, you are Cassie." 

I decided, on reflection, that I'd rather be a sport than a girl, if the opinion of the latter state was so low. We went back to the castle. When we reached the Common Room I found Jill by the fire. I thought this business would be right up her street. I was right. 

"But _of course_ she was jealous!" she said wisely. "_I_ wouldn't have gone so over the top myself, but I suppose she is only just confronting her feelings." 

"Feelings? What feelings?" 

"For Felix, of course!" she said as if it were obvious. 

"You mean-" 

"She fancies him! Well how did you expect it to end! She spends all her time with him- naturally she likes him!" 

"But I spend a lot of my time with boys, and that doesn't mean I fancy any of them. Does it?" 

Jill grinned, "Perhaps you'd better examine your feelings for those concerned very closely!" 

I did, for about ten seconds, and came to the conclusion that I didn't fancy either Jack or Felix at all. 

"I really can't imagine how you didn't notice!" Jill persisted. 

"It just didn't occur to me." 

"You do have your head in the clouds, don't you?" 

"Jill!" 

"Well, if you paid attention to what people say then you'd have known ages ago!" 

"And what would I have known?" 

"Why, the whole school's been saying for years that Felix Lorrimer and Kimberley Fortune are going out!" She stood up and wagged her finger at me, "You'll wake up sometime!" I was left with a vague feeling of inferiority. 

Jill's place was taken by Xanthia, a prefect badge, a Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook and a highlighter. She worked for about three minutes then put down her book, looked me in the eye and said, "Cassandra, you look like distressed paintwork. What calmity has broken the serenity of your reflections?" 

I told all. Xanthia listened wonderfully. She said, "Ooh", "aah" and "you don't say!" at exactly the right moments and subconciously polished her prefect badge the whole time. 

"The thing that is worrying me is, if all the school thinks this, how come I haven't heard a whisper? I'm not that deaf!" I finished. 

"Better off deaf than- well anyway," she replied sharply. "Cassandra, what Jill means is that she has heard one or two people saying that there might be something between Kim and Felix that could develop in a year or two." She smiled at me in a way that reminded me greatly of her mother, not that I'd ever tell her that. 

"You keep your own counsel, Cassie. Don't be influenced by anybody. Jill's an idiot. Harmless, but still an idiot. And don't forget this important piece of advice to help you get through this giant game of chance-" 

"Yes?" 

She gazed at me profoundly, "Life is a soap opera, Cassie." 

Roll on the Christmas holidays. 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

**The Book**

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38:05, The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester

The holidays came, as they always do. And now they're going fast. I was not staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, as we were planning on having a quiet family celebration at home. Well, as for a 'quiet family celebration at home' I think we can wave goodbye to that! I'm at Chester, staying with Bill, Catherine, Edward and Xanthia Weasley. I've been here since the twenty-third. Mother and Father are in Athens doing heaven knows what and France and England have been as close to war since Napoleon's time. Mother has been in Big Trouble with the Ministry which has been also in Big Trouble with Mother. I don't quite know which is worse. All seems to be quietening down now, however. Unfortunately no one is telling me _anything_! I tried to nick Catherine's _Daily Prophet_ but she saw me. _"I have eyes in the back of my head thank-you very much I'll take that"_ was roughly what she said. This is how it started... 

One of the main reasons I was coming home for the holdiays was because my parents wanted to take me to a political meeting on the twenty-third of December. The purpose of calling this meeting was to discuss how to sort out the rising tension between France and England and what was to be done with the telescope. Many parents had decided to take their children along, for the young people to get an idea of 'how a sensible, diplomatic discussion among mature adults takes place' to quote one idiot. Ha ha. I think I've got a pretty good idea now, and I have every intention for remaining thirteen for as long as possible. 

The meeting was being held in a hall outside London. It was large, drafty and on the top of a hill. There was a graveyard nearby. Xanthia said later that it reminded her of something she had once read in a muggle horror story, Goosepimples or something like that. I don't go in for that sort of thing much. 

The hall was packed, hot and I'd bet my bottom galleon that there was more carbon dioxide in it than there was oxygen. I saw the Weasleys dotted around the hall, visible by their hair. My Grandmother Lily was there with Sirius and Arabella Black, the famous aurors and I saw many other people who I either knew or had heard of. 

I think the hall had once been used as a theatre since there was a stage at the front of the room. There was a table for the minister and seats also on the stage for Chalep's entourage. Mother disapproves of this almost secret, private organisation that Chalep has initiated. The meeting started promptly at seven o'clock. A tall woman in skimpy clothes came onto the stage and announced the wizards. 

"Who's she?" I whispered to Father, on my right. 

"Narcissa Malfoy," he hissed back, "Nero and Emilia's grandmother." 

"Slut," said Mother on my left in a superior tone. Father laughed slightly. 

Mrs. Malfoy introduced the men- for they were all men. I could see by the tightening of Mother's lips that this did not go down well. 

"May I present our comittee for this evening? We have here Mr. Adrian Pucey, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Mr. Mike Bletchley, Mr. Vincent Crabbe and Mr. Gregory Goyle. Finally here is the Minister himself, Mr. Laurence Chalep!" 

There was thunderous applause. Mother quietly held her wand on her lap, looked at my father and almost grinned. Larry Chalep was about six foot, he was tanned, had freckles and bleached blond hair. He beamed at us and waved. His pale blue eyes glittered. He was really quite handsome. 

"Did you know, Cassie," whispered my father, "that Chalep spends more money on hair products than your mother? He uses a bottle of Sleakeasy's a day." 

"I'm not surprised." 

Mother muttered, "All Slytherins." She glanced at my father, their eyes met and Mother raised her eyebrows. 

The young couple in front of us turned round to shush us. 

Larry Chalep introduced the meeting. "I am sure there is no need to state the problem that faces Britain today. As a conscientious wizard I feel myself called upon to address the issue as it has fallen to my lot to lead this state, something I am everso proud to attempt, when I was chosen to represent this country politically. Are we not one, the people and I? Indeed, I am only an ambassador, carrying your wishes to other nations." 

Father's eyes glittered behind his glasses. Once again my parent's gaze locked above my head. 

"The French have taken something that is rightfully ours. The issue is this: shall we let ourselves be outwitted by the selfish, irrational and childish whims of a country under a corrupt government? France has long wanted a way to revenge herself on our nation. For what, we may ask. The answer is glaringly obvious. Do we not have a more democratic country, more traditional customs and an older school? They are jealous! Yes- jealous!" 

He went on in much the same strain. I watched the couple in the row in front tickling each other's ears. At last Chalep reached the point of the meeting. He made Malfoy read the plans he had made as to what should be done. They were very long and very complicated and contained detailed plans of auror divisions being subdivided and sent to get co-operation of German forces. There were plans put up on a board at the back of the hall. It all boiled down to military attack on Beauxbatons and the removal by force of the telescope. It did not look a very Good Idea at all to me. 

The couple in front moved onto kissing. (Considering the _anti-French_ theme of the meeting, I'm surprised they were not immediately accused of blasphemy, or perhaps mere lack of attention.) Dusk fell and the lights were turned on. I counted 128 floating candles. At last Chalep announced that he was holding a few minutes' break for us to discuss which plans we liked best and to collect our thoughts. (Plans? Were there more than one? I never noticed.) 

The conversation started and the large echoey room soon reverberated with the sounds of many voices. Father turned to me with a wry smile, "Well, enjoying your first political meeting, Cassie?" 

I yawned and grinned, "What time is it?" 

"Ten o'clock. About your bedtime." 

"I was" -yawn- "becoming increasingly aware of that." 

"I did notice you weren't concentrating all the time." 

"Harry," said my mother. We turned to her. She was gripping the edges of her chair very hard; her knuckles were white. I could feel an odd electricity in the air. 

My father let out a long sigh and finally said, "Are you... are you _sure_ you want to do this?" 

Mother's lips were pressed tightly together, and it seemed an effort for her to open them. "I know what you thought of Chalep's speech. Do you really think I could let it pass?" 

He shook his head and his mouth turned up at the corners. 

"I know-" she continued, "-I know what will happen but I'm willing to take the risk. I have enough supporters to know that we have a chance. I've faced worse before." 

I wish I knew what they were talking about and I wish I wasn't sitting between them. Mother reminded me oddly enough of something the Dark Lord Grindalwald supposedly said while pacing up and down his dark and dismal dungeon in the Black Forest in a biography I'm reading of him- 'I haff meine supporters- with vun you haff keine chance- with backing the world is yours!' It's not a particularly good sign, I imagine, if your Mother reminds you of someone as particularly evil as Grindalwald was! 

Father reached out and touched Mother's arm gently. It was a small sign, yet it was reassured me as well as it clearly did Mother. She smiled slightly and her gaze suddenly rested on me. She frowned, "Harry, don't you think Cassandra should-" She was interrupted. The platform party had returned and requested silence. She cast an agonized gaze at me and then turned her attention back to Narcissa Malfoy. (_Lovely_ name, and _so_ appropriate!) 

"I hope you have had time to consider our proposals. Does anyone have anything to say?" 

There was a rustling around the hall and there seemed to be a deliberation on who should speak first. It did not last long. Mother literally jumped up and stood in the middle of the hall. There was a ripple through the crowd as they saw who it was. There was a smattering of applause. Chalep and his followers looked noticeably miffed. 

"Well, Lady Potter seems to be the spokeswoman for the occasion. Let us hear your opinion! What do you have to say? I trust you approve of the plans!" There was a snort of laughter coming from the other side of the hall. I may be mistaken, but it sounded very much like Ron Weasley to me. 

"I do _not_!" Mother's sharp retort cut through the air like a knife. There was complete silence. The smile was visibly wiped off Mrs. Malfoy's face. Mother glanced at my father as if for reassurance. 

"Ah!" said Mrs. Malfoy feebly. Leaning aganist the wall of the hall a tall blue eyed woman eyed the dialogue with interest. 

Mr. Chalep jumped up, his face red and angry, "Really, Lady Potter this is too much! I don't think that you should be saying such things! Preposterous! Preposterous! Crabbe, Goyle- I order you to remove-" 

"Mr. Chalep, consider!" The speaker was Draco Malfoy. I felt a shiver go up my spine. I had never heard him speak before. His voice was low and cold. He was the splitting image of his son; so much so that I thought it almost too good to be true (or should I say- too _bad_ to be true?) 

He touched the Mr. Chalep's arm gently to get his attention. His grey eyes raked across the hall till they met my mother's. 

"Draco, what do you want to say? Her Ladyship cannot possibly have anything to say!" 

Mother's hand tightned on the back of the chair in front (the couple had removed themselves at the break to continue their, ahem, pleasures elsewhere). Her cheeks glowed pink and, much as she tried to control it, her voice spiraled upwards as she spoke. "I most certainly do have something to say!" 

"Oh God! Just don't lose your temper!" moaned Father, his head in his hands. 

Draco Malfoy stood up slowly and deliberately. He paced to the front of the platform and stroked his chin in thought. Even from this far off I could tell he was enjoying his little drama very much. Just wish I was as well. 

"Minister, listen a little to me. Perhaps we should ask her Ladyship what she has to say before we condemn her outright! She makes very convincing arguments." His voice dropped to a whisper, though such was the quiet of the hall that every syllable could be heard, "I know you of old, Potter, and I at least wish very much to hear what you have to say." 

"Draco Malfoy!" cried Mother. 

"Speak, Lady!" said Chalep. Malfoy sat down, contented for the time being at least. 

Mother opened her mouth and spoke. She tried very hard to be non judgemental of the Minister but it was not possible for her to disguise the scorn in her voice. She protested, she said, against what the Ministry was doing. She said a lot else as well and though they listened intently, I could tell it was not going down too well. Father was biting his nails. She finished. 

Immediately there was uproar. It took much shouting and red sparks from the platform party to restore order. In the middle of the confusion Mother had sat down. She leaned across me and whispered, "Was I all right?" 

I nodded and yawned hard. Father grinned widely, "Simply perfect! Couldn't have said it better myself!" 

"I wonder what they'll do," whispered Mother back. 

Father squeezed her hand, "We'll soon find out!" 

We did. Chalep had appointed a spokesman- Draco Malfoy. He stood up and cooly made his way to the front of the platform. Then he stopped and stared right at us. "Your Ladyship," he drawled, enjoying himself a great deal, "Our dear Minister has decided that from now on your priviledges as a member of the governing committee and as Head of the Department of International Magical Educational Schemes and Syllabuses will come to an end. You have two days to leave your office and find a replacement." He turned away smugly, but not before my father had jumped up and, pointing his finger at Malfoy in pure rage cried out, "Bastard! You'll pay for that, you will!" I sunk down in my chair, horribly embarrassed. From what I could see of my mother she was too. 

"I can fight my own battles, Harry," she mouthed, thought the queer thing was that I did not see her lips move at all. Her voice seemed to come from very far away. 

"Sorry, I over-reacted," replied my father sheepishly and I could have sworn his lips hadn't moved either. I shook my aching head to clear my mind of these bizarre impressions. What good would it serve either of my parents to use ventriloquism? The electricity I had felt before seemed to return even stronger this time. Odd that electricity is such a _physical_ force, since there seemed to be much _chemistry_ surrounding us as well. 

After my father's outburst there was pandemonium. People had jumped up from their seats; some were clapping, others shouting and waving their fists. Quite an elderly man had Father in a headlock. Mother whipped out her wand faster than a bewitched bludger and cried, "Expelliamus!" The man shot into the back wall with great force. Mother clapped her hands to her mouth, "Oops! Must have put too much feeling into that charm!" 

"Behind you!" I yelled, seeing a woman with a face like a banshee push a chair back and lean towards Mother with her wand outstretched. Mother aimed a stunning spell behind her back. "Harry- do something with Cassandra!" she screamed over the shouting. 

"Do something with her yourself!" replied my father waspishly. He was dueling with someone who looked like a professional thug with one arm, and elbowing another man in stomach with his other. 

I had pulled out my wand and sat clutching my chair, trying hard not to be noticed. If I could have, I would have run away. The chairs had been cleared away randomly to make room for the fighting. I looked at the platform, which seemed in just as much disaray as the rest of the hall. Larry Chalep, I noted, seemed to have disappeared. 

Mother was standing on a lone chair in the middle of the hall, brow furrowed in concentration, shooting charms and hexes in all directions. Father seemed to be involved in a much more down to earth fist fight. I saw Draco Malfoy push through the crowd and drag my father away from his attackers. 

"Bit of a misjudgement on her Ladyship's part wasn't that?" he said. "Just can't keep her temper, can she? Neither can you, for that matter. What a wonderful pair you make!" 

Father glared at Malfoy for a few seconds. He seemed to be weighing up his chances. At last he said, "Malfoy, there's something I've been wanting to do for ages." So saying, he punched Mr. Malfoy on the nose! I almost cheered, only someone seemed to have noticed me. 

"Oh look! It's the little heiress! Look who'll get the galleons if her parents 'happen' to die! Ready to duel, Miss? I heard you were top of your class. You going to prove it?" He was an unpleasant looking fellow, and a good deal larger than me. 

I almost considered turning down the challenge, but then I remembered that I was a Gryffindor, that I was Harry Potter's daughter and that I actually wouldn't mind trying out what I had learnt in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Then one of the man's friends said, "Aw, leave her, Spike. She's only a kid!" 

That did it! I jumped up, flicked my hair out of my face and stood in the ready dueling position. I adapted my voice into the one that annoys Nero and Emilia Malfoy the most. "Actually, you know Spike, I _am_ top of my class. How clever of you to find it out! I'm perfectly ready to prove myself." 

He appeared taken aback, yet maintained eye contact with me as we circled. I had no idea what my parents were doing, or even where they were. 

I was just about to fire my first spell when a hand grabbed my wrist from behind me. I let out a small scream. Spike yelled, "Here where do you think you're going, Potter?! You promised me a duel!" 

The hand dragged me through the fighting crowd. "Let go of me!" I cried. I had a duel to finish or my honour as a witch would be damaged. Still, he was too strong. He pulled me out of the hall, through the vestibule and into a crisp, clear, cold winter's night. Eventually he let me go, once the door was shut behind us. It was Nero Malfoy. 

"You- you!" Words failed me, I was so angry. I glared down at the red lines on my left wrist where his fingers had dug into my skin. I shook my arm in his face, "Look! Look what you did to me! How dare you! It hurts! Just look at it!" 

"How can I look when you're shaking it so hard?" He grasped my hand again and stilled it. For a slender fourteen year old, he was pretty strong. 

"Are you all right? Did I hurt you?" 

What a question! He almost looked concerned. Luckily I was not taken in. He was trying to get me off my guard and then jump me. 

"Yes, it did hurt, actually! What did you mean by dragging me out like that?" 

"That hall's no place for someone like you." 

I was growing angrier by the second. "What sort of a sexist comment is that? Did you see my mother? dealing with five thugs at the same time?" 

"That man who challenged you, Spike, do you know who he is?" 

How Malfoy could be keeping calm and cool like he was was beyond me. "No, do I care?" 

"You should. He's a trained assassin. He works for my dad." 

The news gave me a slight shock; I had _definitely_ not acted wisely. Still, I'd never let that on to Malfoy. "Says something about your family, doesn't it?" Nero flushed. "My father punched yours. _Your_ father has to hire people to do his dirty work for him, _my_ father fights his own battles. I don't appreciate your interference in my life- I can manage perfectly well without your help and nonsensical ideas of saving my life or whatever you thought you were doing." Inspiration hit me- "You're just scared yourself so you got yourself out by pretending to save me." I smiled triumphantly. I was right, of course. 

Nero seemed to have eventually lost his cool. "Your wrong, Potter. If you can't see why I did it then you're blinder than I thought. Go back to your mudblood loving parents-" 

I saw red, pulled out my wand and dashed at him, "DO NOT INSULT MY PARENTS! THEY ARE WORTH TWENTY OF YOURS!! YOUR MUM WASN'T EVEN AT THE BLASTED MEETING!" 

He grabbed my wrist to stop me cursing him, "Don't say that about my mother!" 

We struggled outside while our parents struggled inside. Eventually, when I thought I was getting the better of him I panted, "I'm going back inside to fight Spike and _you_ can't stop me!" Somehow I found I had been pushed against the wall. I tried to pull Nero's wrists off mine. I was very out of breath. 

"I can and will!" he hissed, his face a bare few inches away from mine. 

The door opened and Catherine Shortstraw appeared into the night. She saw me immediately, "Cassandra!" 

Malfoy let go of my wrists and jumped about a metre back. "Nero!" Catherine said in equal surprise. She walked quickly towards us and glanced at each of us in turn. "Now, what's been going on here? That you want to tell me about, that it," she added. She sent a somewhat confused look towards me. I was too out of breath to answer and I was nursing my arms. 

Nero answered smoothly, though he too seemed a little puffed, "Cassandra was being attacked by a very dangerous man. I brought her out here." 

My godmother's eyes lighted up for a second, "That seems very sensible, Nero. I shall talk to you about who that person was when we return to school." 

He nodded, "Yes, Professor." 

"Thank-you again, Nero. Now, Cassandra, I think you'd better come with me." She put her arm around me and steered me towards the dark blob in the distance that was the car park. I felt overcome with exhaustion. "I'm glad you came," I muttered. I did not look back at Malfoy. 

Catherine and I walked in silence for a bit then out of the blue she asked, seemingly embarassed, "You and Nero, you were, er...er..." 

"Fighting, you mean? Yes, of course we were! What did you think we were doing? Drinking tea?!" 

Catherine looked relieved and even more embarrassed, but would not enlighten me. 

We found Catherine's dark green Ford Weasley and she put me in the front. I felt exhausted and did not ask any questions except, as she started the engine, "Where are we going?" 

"Home," she replied, almost backing into another car, "Have a mint imperial. They're in the glove rack." 

I helped myself and leaned back on the beige leather seats. "Catherine," I asked, feeling stupid, "What about Bill and Edward and Xanthia? How will they get home?" 

"They'll take floo powder, or they'll stay the night with Ron's family." She was still talking in that calm, gentle tone. If I had been a little more awake I would have heard the anxiety behind it. 

The car lifted smoothly off the ground and rose above the roofs of the houses. I sucked my mint, "Are we going to your house?" 

She nodded. 

"What about Mother and Father?" 

"Never mind. Just sleep." She turned on the heating, the car's engine melted into the background and that was the last I remember. 

~~*~~

**Chapter Five:** _A special Christmas edition, featuring parties, an air hostesses, dreams and a funny birthday present. _

As always, I'm looking for fan artists. If you're inspired by this story, or the prequal, then Private Owl or e-mail me. 

See you next chapter! 

~Silvestria~


	6. V

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(5/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 5 __

'Bloody Christmas, here again, Let us raise a loving cup: Peace on earth, goodwill to men, And make them do the washing up.' 'Another Christmas Poem' by Wendy Cope 

**_ The Book_**

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued) 

I woke very slowly, adjusting my mind to being awake. I felt very comfortable; the bed was soft and warm and the room was dark. I could hear a clock ticking softly. Apart from that, there was complete stillness. I listened to my breathing for some moments before wondering where I was. 

I stretched each arm out to see what my surroundings were. My left arm came into contact with an expanse of bed and my right banged into a hard something. 

The bed appeared to be empty. I mention this merely because it seems to be the norm for the girl, when she wakes up in a strange bed with no memory of the previous night, to have acquired a new, usually male, bedfellow. I was somewhat relieved to find that this was _not_ the case. 

I moved my legs experimentally. There was a heavy weight on them. _There was something on the bed_. I flung my right arm out again until my hand banged into something that might be a light. I found a switch and turned it on. In the middle of the thick patchwork quilt was a pair of yellow eyes in a ball of white fur. My heartbeat slowed down and I smiled. "Adamas." 

The kitten purred in recognition of its name. I reached out a hand to stroke him. Adamas is Xanthia's cat. The Shortstraw-Weasleys have two cats. There is Catherine's ancient feline, Robigo, who looks like, and behaves like a direct descendent of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Mr. Murdstone. Xanthia has often spent a lot of time not complaining about how Robigo almost scratched her arm off. She is an absolute martyr, as she says herself. Adamas is one of Robigo's offspring and clearly takes after his father, being everything his mother isn't. 

I looked around the room. It was largish for a town house, though nothing like my chamber at Two Towers. The walls were white and there was one window, opposite the bed. Royal blue crutains with a swirling gold design hung about them heavily. The furniture consisted of the kingsize bed that I was in, a large, heavy wardrobe, a chest by the bed that served as a bedside table, a bookcase and a full-length mirror. All of it was done in elaborately decorated mahogany wood. I leaned up on one arm and reached my glasses and watch. I was surprised to find that the time read quarter to eleven! I swung my legs out of bed and my feet sank into a thick, bottle green carpet. I made my way to window as I heard the sound of voices from downstairs. The very monotany of them suggested a wireless. A floorboard creaked in a pleasant, familiar way and water gurgled in a pipe. I wasn't as alone as I had thought. 

I padded over to the window and drew the curtain. It did not let much more light in. The window was large and divided into two sections, each consisting of six small sections, divided by wood covered with peeling white paint. 

I drew the net curtain back and looked down at the dark, shiny, wet road. The rain was coming down hard and steady, and clearly had been for hours. The river, across the road was full and turbulent as it headed for the weir. The weeping willows on the bank were drooping. 

A woman walked swiftly down the opposite pavement, engulfed in a large red umbrella and a dark, styleless raincoat. She looked neither left or right, head bowed into the rain. Her heels clicked efficiently on the tarmac. 

I had only been to Chester once before, when I was two or three years old. I remember walking around a lot, a museum that was nauseatingly boring at two years old (but Mother and Catherine stayed there for over two hours) and that it was wet. The weather, at any rate, has not changed. I wondered why the Weasleys stayed here, so cut off from the wizarding world, before I recollected that Chester had been a large Roman camp, and that there were enough remains to satisfy even my godmother's passion. 

The floorboards creaked again and I heard a knock on the door. "Come in!" 

The door opened and Xanthia peaked round it. When she saw I was up she grinned, "Merry Christmas, Cassie!" 

"Christmas?!" I repeated blankly. 

She came further into the room, "It's Christmas Eve today!" 

"Oh!" I felt very out of it. "Merry Christmas, Xanthia!" 

She bounced onto the bed, rusty curls flying. "What do you want for Christmas? I'm hoping for a model quidditch pitch- they're all the rage in my year." 

I sighed, "Xanthia- how can you talk about Christmas presents? Where are my parents? Where are my clothes? Will I be going home for Christmas?" 

Xanthia flushed, "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't think. After all Mum lectured me on being nice to you- talk of the devil!" 

A voice wafted up the stairs. "Xanthia? Have you put Cassandra's trunk in her room?" 

Xanthia shrugged and went out, returning a few moments later, dragging my heavy Hogwarts trunk. I jumped up, "Xanthia- let me help!" 

Together we pulled the case into the room. Xanthia closed the door with a click then sat back down on my bed. "I wish I could answer your questions. I don't know as much as I would like to. I will try, though. Right. In order- how can I talk about Christmas presents? Answer is _very easily_! They are one of my favourite subjects. Such a pity they aren't on the syllabus. Secondly, as far as I know your parents are on their way to Athens in an aeroplane.-" 

"Athens! In a aeroplane!" 

"From what I can glean from what Mum has said, they have been invited to the International Congress of Wizards, which has called an emergency meeting." 

"But Chalep's meeting was only last night!" 

Xanthia shrugged, "News travels fast. I believe your phoenix has been in quite a lot of demand. Mum didn't get any sleep at all last night. She was invited to the congress as well, but felt that she was needed more in England, if only to pluck the turkey. Chalep, you know, has disappeared with some Ministers. Your mother has somehow gained leadership in this time of crisis. She has been invited to Athens to represent England." 

I could scarce believe my ears, "My mother? Represent England?!" 

Xanthia smiled, "Yes. People admire your mother. She's a born leader. It's in her blood!" 

I laughed, "Oh really!" 

Xanthia looked bothered and chewed her bottom lip. There was a pause then I said, "I was going to ask you. How did you get home last night? Your mother and I took the car, didn't we?" 

Xanthia laughed with gloomy enjoyment, "Ha ha ha! Yes, a long story! Are you sure you want to hear it?" 

"Positive!" I curled up on the bed and prepared to hear this fantastical, exaggerated story. It was, as most of Xanthia's stories are, almost half made up. However, it was certainly an excellent piece of fiction. She described, with dramatic detail, the rain swept hills, the full moon scudding across the windy sky, illuminating the dark forests. She told me of how they walked practically all the way to Manchester before they found the central floo network. She mentioned the gloomy stranger in the lonely inn where they asked for a taxi, that reminded her of Strider, waiting ever waiting for the ringbearer... 

Catherine's voice came up the stairs once more, "Xanthia? Have you finished up there? Is Cassandra awake? You said you'd do the pastry cases! I'm waiting!" 

She rolled her eyes, "Better go. Come down when you're ready. Your clothes are in the trunk. Mum summoned it sometime last night. I think you'll be here for quite a few days." She danced out of the room towards the pastry cases. 

I opened the trunk and selected some suitable clothes. I dressed quickly and brushed my hair. I tied it back in front of the mirror and tried to picture myself as a beauty. "Cassandra of...Troy," I finshed gloomily. "And just look what happened to her! Predicted the fall of her city, got carried away by the Greek leader to be his concubine, and got murdered by his wife! Brilliant." 

"Try some stilletos sometime, dear," the mirror reassured me. "They'd put a few inches onto your height." 

I stuck my tongue out at it and went downstairs. 

As I descended the stairs I could smell the delicious aroma of spices, fruit and cooking that was mince pies. I followed the smell until I reached the kitchen. It was quite small and full of steam. A wireless, perched precariously on a high shelf and covered in flourery smudges announced loudly, "...going to play one of the main choruses from Haydn's _Creation_, 'The Heavens are Telling'. Don't forget that you can hear the whole oratorio this evening at eight p.m. on WWN 2! Here is Sheila MacMillan, Godric Bennet and Tobias Mallory as the three soloists with the Institute of Salem Choir and Orchestra conducted by Hamlet O'Brian. Here they are, witches and wizards!" 

Catherine Shortstraw was standing at the table with Xanthia, putting the finishing touches to a large batch of mince pies. She had jam on her chin. As I came in she smiled at me and dashed round the table, nearly causing a minor catastrophe with a bottle of olive oil and a nice patterned apron. Why is it that some people rush everywhere, yet seem to get there so much slower than everyone else? 

"Happy Christmas Eve, darling!" she cried, giving me a hug and kissing the top of my head. I disengaged myself and brushed off the flour, which had transferred itself from Catherine's apron to my jumper. 

"Something smells good!" I said, coming further into the room. Catherine beamed. I suppose she likes her work praised. Xanthia licked her fingers behind her back, and winked at me. 

I cleared away a pile of borchures, all called something like _Escape to Capri 2021_ or _Escape to Capri 2022_ and sat down. "Will I spend Christmas here?" 

Catherine looked intently at me, "Yes, I suppose you shall. Your parents will be away for a few weeks, I imagine. It looks like it will be a long job to restore balance to the country." 

"Restore balance to the _force_, you mean!" joked Xanthia. 

Catherine looked bewildered, "Do I?" 

Xanthia shook her head with the air of superiority, "Star Wars!" 

Catherine tried to look ashamed and failed, "I'm afraid, I really don't er..._go in_ for that sort of film, Xanthia! Are you are a Star Wars fan, Cassandra?" 

When I admitted that I had never seen an episode Xanthia acted shocked and began to explain the plot in detail to me, "It's about a guy called Luke Skywalker who is training to become a Jedi knight- think of aurors, with me so far? And he's got to kill an evil Sith lord- think Voldemort- only it turns out this Dark Lord- Darth Vadar is actually-" 

"Xanthia darling, I can't imagine that Cassandra is remotely interested to hear the plot of Star Wars," said Catherine in her _You will do the translation on page 15 for Monday or die trying_ voice. 

"But I was just going to say that Darth Vadar was actually Luke's-" 

"That's enough, Xanthia!" And even she was surprised at her mother's tone. 

Xanthia wilted. "But they are good films," she protested, "I wish real life had those sort of twists and adventures!" 

Catherine leaned onto the table and stared hard at her daughter, "If you had lived through the reign of Lord Voldemort, Xanthia, you would not speak so! I have had as many plot twists to my life to last me till infinity. Such danger is not fun, you'll find. Lives have been lost to Voldemort, families have been broken up, friends have turned evil, you do not know who you can trust. I watched my sister being killed by Death Eaters! I- I know things, Xanthia, that should have never happened! There are people who lived through those times who would have been better off dead. There are people who, because of Voldemort, have denied themselves a normal life. How can you mention Star Wars, Xanthia, with Cassandra in the room? There are people who have given their entire lives to getting rid of the Dark Side. The secret...!" 

"What secret?" I cried stupidly. 

There was a long silence then Catherine cleared her throat, muttered something about needing sleep and wouldn't I like some breakfast? 

~~*~~

"Could all passengers on the delayed flight BA7553 to Athens go to Gate 16, please. We are now boarding. British Airways would like to apologise for the delay and any inconveniance this has caused." 

There was the relieved muttering and flurry as the bored passengers for Athens collected their belongings and headed for the gate. 

Among them a typically English couple rolled up their newspapers and patiently joined the end of the queue. He was tall, handsome and had light green eyes. She was shorter, worn out and looked efficient and professional. 

"Five hours waiting! It's incredible! What were they thinking of? I really don't know how the muggles survive!" 

"Ssh!" whispered her husband edgily. "What if someone hears you? They'll think you're mad!" 

"Not as mad as you! You're behaving like a Mafia recruit on his first job." 

He ground his teeth slightly, "I _feel_ like a terroist! I just want to blow up that damn 'plane and all the damn-" 

"Boarding cards please!" said the gloomy attendant who needed some coffee and a better sex life. He put the tickets through the machine and handed them back without even glancing at them. He took their passports, flipped them open and handed them back, still gazing at the large TV on the opposite wall. "Enjoy your flight. Merry Christmas!" he snapped and continued watching the trainer advertisement. (Adidas! As worn by Beckam!) 

They boarded the aeroplane, found their seats and opened up their newspapers again. 

About five minutes later, just when people were settling down and hoping that take off time might be approaching, the tannoy announced, "This is your pilot speaking. I'd like to wish you, on behalf of myself and my crew today, Merry Christmas Eve! I do apologise for the delay and anticipate that we should be taking off very- oh excuse me a minute!" 

"About time too!" some said loudly. 

The pilot returned to the tannoy sounding slightly less sure of himself, "Ah, I do apologise, ladies and gentlemen. I've just been called by Ground Control and it turns out that there is a _very_ small technical difficulty that is not yet resolved." Exaspered groans. "It is _extremely_ minor, and should take no longer than ten minutes to fix. To entertain you in that time, music will be played." Slight brightening of countenances. "Because it is, a very special, ha ha, day today, I think some seasonal music would be on the cards! Here's Winter Wonderland!" 

Lady Potter groaned, for it was she and mimed putting her hands over her ears. "Can this get any worse?" she asked. 

Harry shrugged. "The plane might blow up in mid flight?" he suggested. 

She rolled her eyes and stared bleakly out of the dirty window at the rain lashing down on the tarmac of Gatwick airport. "You know, there are many things that I like about the magical world, but there are some things I really can't stand about it! For example, why is there a tradition to close down international apparition guards from the 24th to the 26th of December! It's ludicrous! Just when people are going to want to leave the country, they block up the easiest way of doing so! Now if _I_ were Minister I'd change that!" 

"Hmmm," replied Harry who was leafing through _High Life_. "Just remind me never to travel British Airways again!" 

"I doubt you'll need much reminding!" she answered drily. "What film is being shown?" 

Harry found the appropriate page and read out loud, "A documentary on killer bees, a back issue of something called _Friends_-" 

"Ooh! That's funny! I watched it as a child. Er well, carry on!" 

"-and the latest blockbuster hit, _Silence of the Hams_. It's about an evil, lunatic pig who can only be stopped from wiping out and eating the whole of the farmyard by two piglets called Mouldy and Swill." 

"What utter rubbish!" Lady Potter sounded almost angry. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me if anything exciting happens in the next few hours- you never know, the plane might take off!" 

She fell asleep instantly, even with _I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus_ blaring out of the tannoy. It might have been the nature of the music, or it might not have been, that made her dream... 

~~*~~

_ A horse plodded along an English country lane, full of the type of flowers and shrubbery that were seen only in fairy tales. The horse bore a man and woman, riding together. They were dressed in their best. She had lillies threaded through her black hair to great effect and wore a floaty white dress. The man, who was handsome, with messy auburn hair and bright brown eyes leaned down and kissed her head. _

The horse turned a corner in the road and a large, stone house came into view. It was perfectly positioned. Honeysuckle crept round the small latticed windows. It was a rambling house, old even then. The horse stopped. 

"Welcome to Godric's Hollow, Elena! The home of Gryffindors for centuries! Long before your family came to Britain we Gryffindors have been here! I er, do you like it?" He asked anxiously. 

She gave a sharp intake of breath, "Like it, Simon? It's the best house I've ever seen! Why is it called Godric's Hollow? Who was Godric?" 

Simon gently tapped the horse with his ankles. "Godric was an ancestor of mine. He was a king, I think. It's all a bit of a legend. He was supposedly very powerful." 

Elena seemed to be considering something then she said, "When we have a son, we shall call him Godric, and he shall be even more powerful than his ancestor!" 

Simon laughed and kissed her again, "Barely married an hour and you're already planning our children!" 

They stopped outside the house. A man was standing there waiting for them, with his round eyed little daughter by his side. He inclined his head, "Welcome back, my Lord." However, he did not seem to know how to treat the bride. He looked at her suspiciously. 

"Dominic, hold the horse!" ordered Lord Simon Gryffindor curtly. He jumped off, then held his hand out to his lady. Elena slid off and stood by him. 

"Elena, this is Dominic. He oversees my estate. Dominic, may I present to you my wife?" said Simon proudly. Elena beamed. 

He bowed, yet still there was distrust in his eyes. Simon ordered him to see to the horses. The girl remained. She was staring with open curiosity at the new mistress. 

Elena crouched and smiled at her, "What's your name?" 

The girl thought before replying, "Amanda." 

Elena held out her hand, "I'm very pleased to meet you, Amanda! I'm Elena. Lady Elena Gryffindor." 

Amanda frowned, "Elena? I would have thought Diana! When I saw you I compared you to a goddess!" She blushed. 

Elena seemed surprised, but Simon laughed loudly, "Then let me be the one suitor who can win fair Diana's hand! Run along Ama, and help your father! I shall show fair Diana the house!" 

Eyes laughing he held his arm out to her, "Would my Lady Gryffindor care...?" 

She smiled and gave him her hand. They entered the house, master and mistress of the world. 

"Simon," she asked after admiring everything in sight, "your overseer didn't seem to like me much, did he? I'd hate to make an enemy so quickly!" 

He squeezed her hand, "No, Diana- by Jupiter, I think that name suits you! He is suspicious of you, since you were a Slytherin. He doesn't think I should have married someone from that_ family! Never fear, Di, he'll get over it when he sees how absolutely perfect you are!" _

"No, I'm not perfect! I'm just perfect for you." 

"You are, darling. In every way." He was about to kiss her when he seemed struck by an idea. Focusing very hard on her he channelled one single phrase through to her, I love you!

She received the message more easily than he would have thought. She gasped and drew back from him a bit, in shock. "How did you do that, Simon? You- you spoke in my head!" 

"I've been building up to it for ages! Ever since I met you I felt we were connected in some way. I had dreams about you, almost every night after I turned eighteen." 

"Me too!" 

"Then when I met you, I knew I was in love with you. You were the woman I had waited for! And yet, there was something deeper than love between us- something unbreakable. I could feel it. We were destined for each other! It was written in the stars!" 

She shook her head, smiling, "No. I don't believe in that sort of thing! There is no such thing as fate! All things happen due to our own actions." 

"But Diana, don't you think that it's very coincidental then, that I just happened to go to your brother's party, because I was bored that particular day, and that I should happen to need air, just as you were crossing the peristyle! It was preordained, I'm sure of it! But I've thought we might be able to communicate between our minds several times before. I wanted to try it out!" 

"And it works!" she breathed, "Simon- we're on to something!" 

"What shall we call it?" 

"That's assuming it's unique to us. Maybe loads of people can do it. It needs a bit of research!" 

Simon rolled his eyes and bounded up the stairs, "What's the point of research? What's the point of you_ doing research? You're a woman! You wouldn't find anything out!" _

Her eyes flashed slightly and she followed him upstairs, "I'm not a fool, Simon!" 

~~*~~

"Excuse me, excuse me... Oh is she asleep? I'm so sorry, sir!" 

"She's asleep allright!" growled Harry, tearing his eyes away from _Silence of the Hams_ to face the over made up female who showered him with Chanel No. Five and tried to offer him a plastic container full of GM spinach, microwaved chicken fillets, soggy coleslaw and microscopic cheese cake. 

"Do you think she'll want any lunch, sir?" 

They both looked down at the sleeping figure. She was curled up in her seat. A few strands of hair drifted across her face. There was a tiny smile on her lips. 

The hostess, who bosted the name of Heather Minnet, beamed at Harry. "Isn't she sweet?" 

Harry glared at her. "She is as sweet as vinegar," he replied icily. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have business to do." 

Heather Minnet smiled even more and carried on down the aisle. Harry sighed hard, ate the bread roll and returned his attention to the horror cartoon. 

Lunch had been cleared away when she woke. She yawned and stretched. Then she smiled at Harry. 

"You're awake- you missed lunch." 

"It's OK. I'm not hungry." She twisted a strand of hair round her finger, in thought. Finally she said without looking at Harry, "I think you should know that I had a dream about Diana Gryffindor." 

The news did not affect Harry in the way his wife had hoped. He shrugged, "That's nice?" 

"Don't you remember a thing I've ever said?" 

"Hmm, just a few. I remember the first time you ever said, _I love you_... in Venice, when I was talking about the sewers-" 

"That's irrelevant! Lady Diana Gryffindor is the same person as Elena Slytherin. I had a dream about her a few months ago, remember?" 

"Oh yeah- now you mention it, I do remember it! The Slytherin who decided to rebel and go and marry one of my ancestors. Am I right?" 

She groaned, "Just about. But this one-" 

"Hang on a minute!" Harry started to panic, "If this Slytherin was Godric's mother, and I'm a descendent of Gryffindor, then that means that I have Slytherin blood in me! This is not good!" 

She beamed, "Yes exactly! You've hit on the beautiful paradox of the founders!" 

"Paradox?" 

"Yes. You see, Godric Gryffindor, the most pure of Gryffindors, his mother was a pure blood Slytherin! That means that every true Gryffindor is actually half Slytherin!" 

"Good god! To think I might be related, however distantly to Draco Malfoy!" 

"And the paradox continues! Godric Gryffindor's heir will also have to be exactly half Gryffindor and half Slytherin for the prophecies to work!" 

"Prophecies? Heirs? Why do I feel so lost?" 

"It's a long story, and not suitable for an aeroplane! To come back to the point, since all descendants of Gryffindor have a little bit of Slytherin blood, then to come the perfect balance of exactly half and half, the other parent would have to be an almost pure blood Slytherin, but with a little bit of Gryffindor in them!" 

"Ah!" 

"They would also have to have the Unbreakable Link like Simon and Diana." 

"Ah again!" 

"The birth of their child would start a chain reaction that would bring about a worldwide calamity!" 

"Ah thrice!" 

She pursed her lips, then opened a battered copy of _Return of the King_. Harry leant his head against the cool window pane. "Is it the cheese cake, or was it that conversation that has a left a very distinctly bad aftertaste?" he replied after a few minutes reflection. "Why do I have a _very_ bad feeling about all this?" 

~~*~~

**_ The Book_**

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued) 

Christmas day was an unmitigated success. The morning was all bustle as the finishing touches were given to the large turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce; the sprouts were boiled, the potatoes roasted, the carrots chopped and the parsnips peeled. 

Everyone in the family worked very hard to the rousing tunes of _The Messiah_ under the splendid guidance of Catherine who presided over the proceedings with great good humour and a glass of prosecco. 

At half past twelve Catherine's older sister Emma arrived. She was a plump woman with a short black-turning-grey bob. She was very extravert and witty and very fond of Xanthia especially. Everyone had some more to drink and made toasts to the other Shortstraw siblings- Margreat and Anne, the Weasleys- Molly, Arthur, Charlie, Maria, Fred, George, Katie, Ron, Lisa, Ginny, John and all the children. They toasted my parents and thought seriously about world affairs for a few seconds. The tree looked beautiful; Xanthia and I had decorated it the day before. The tinsel sparkled in the candle light, the fairies fluttered their wings and the baubles winked as they slowly revolved. The smell emanating from the pine was subline and the whole atmosphere was delightful. 

The dinner was something. I've always thought that the Christmas dinner we have at Two Towers, prepared by the two house elves Dobby and Winky with the collaboration of my mother was impressive. _This_ wasn't a dinner- it was a feast. 

There was hot pea soup to start with and home made croutons. Then came the roast turkey and roast ham and bacon rolls with sage and onion, pork and chestnut stuffing and cramberry sauce. It was served with roast potatoes, carrots, parsnips, sprouts and gravy. For pudding was an enormous, flaming Christmas pudding with holly sticking out of the top served with a dessert wine and butterscotch sauce. There were different wizarding crackers for each course. After lunch we collapsed in the sitting room. 

Xanthia and I, who being young cannot understand the need to fall asleep and snore after a lovely lunch, played Wizarding Risk in her bedroom. At about four o'clock the others began to surface and we opened presents. Bill had kindly apparated to Two Towers to get my presents. Even Emma had something for me, which was touching. She insisted I called her Aunt Emma and had a vigorous arm wrestling match with me, while insulting my godmother's job. Those two spend the whole time insulting each other and giggling like school girls. I _think_ they may have had too much prosecco. 

Just when the mince pies and coffee were being circulated at seven o'clock, Ron rang. We had a short conversation in which he reasured me that if any two people were up to saving the world, they were my parents and they were probably having the time of their lives. I seriously doubted that, but he obviously was trying to reasure me so I said nothing. 

After tea we slumped again in the sitting room, surrounded by wrapping paper and enjoyed our presents. I read part of my present from my mother, _Three Men in a Boat_ and laughed. Catherine had given me an Ancient Greek grammar book which was...very kind of her. She's decided to start teaching me informally after school. If she wants extra work... Catherine has decided that she was put on planet Earth for the sole purpose of translating _The Lord of the Rings_ into Ancient Greek. What she hopes to achieve by doing this I cannot think. She's about half way through _The Fellowship_ now. Perhaps she wants a helper. 

~~*~~

Harry Potter sat alone in the hotel room in Athens. He sat at his desk and looked out of the window and stroked Hedwig thoughtfully. He was trying to pen a letter to his daughter. For once he had nothing to say. What could he say- _Happy Christmas! Your mother's arguing about the fate of the world at this minute with international leaders. Weather horrible. See you soon. Your loving father, Harry._ No. It wouldn't do. He stood up and paced. For once in his life Harry was at a loss. Here he was, just metres from where an important council was going on and he couldn't do a thing. His wife was in there. Everything hung on her clear judgement. He was nervous for her and yet tried to be confidant that she would solve everything. There had never been something she could not solve and yet... What if she needed him? What if something went wrong and another dreadful brawl broke out? 

He put his head in his hands and hoped. The door burst open and Lady Potter was framed in the door. She seemed to have rolled in tinsel and had a flashing rainbow coloured paper hat on her head. She was clutching a slice of pumpkin pie and was leaning against the door frame, a silly smile on her face. 

"What on earth?!" cried Harry starting up in surprise. 

"There's a party down there- want to join in?" 

"A party- but!" 

She kicked the door shut and silenced him with a kiss. "Merry Christmas, Harry!" 

"What!" Harry reeled. "What's going on?" 

"You see in front of you the new Minister of Magic of England!" She handed him the pumpkin pie and fell onto his lap. "Everything's going to be all right, Harry!" She emitted a noise that in a lesser woman would be called a giggle. 

Harry sighed heavily. "Now, take a few deep breaths and calm down! You're either drunk or hysterical. Or both," he added. 

"I only had two glasses! They have very nice champagne here! I'm not hysterical at all. Well- maybe just a little." 

"Take your time and tell me what happened." He tightened his arm round her and tried to quash the butterflies that were growing as he tried to merely listen and not think. 

She took his advice and after taking a few breaths, began the story. "As you know, we had a meeting this afternoon where the chosen leaders of England, France and other European countries were to discuss the current world situation and come to a democratic and diplomatic solution about what was to be done. Mr. Anapoulos, the Greek Minister had just opened the meeting when the Italian Minister, whose name I can never remember suddenly protested that it was a stupid idea to do this on Christmas day, couldn't it wait until tomorrow and why don't we have a party instead? This was seconded by the Swedish Minister (she's called Hilde and is perfectly charming) and soon the hotel elves had prepared something in the conference room itself!" 

"And, what did you think of this?" 

"Me? I was shocked at the lack of sobriety among the political leaders, but it all turned out for the best. I got talking to M. Sandrier of France over the bacon rolls, and I apologised for Chalep's behaviour and assured him that it would never happen again. Sandrier told me it was quite all right. He had a personal grudge against Chalep and never thought it would lead to this sort of international crisis. He completely understood the English view point and would lend us the telescope. It's to go on display at the Museum of Ancient Magic in London for a year before being returned to Beauxbatons for a year and so on. A compromise is always the best thing." She stood up and gazed at him out of sparkling eyes. Her cheeks were flushed. 

"He's taking both of us out to dinner tomorrow at one of Athens' most prestigious restaurants. And, oh Harry, he said I was quite the most intelligent woman he'd ever met!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him up and hugged him. 

"Well done, well done. Now what's all this about being Minister?" 

She quietened down and continued. "Well, just five minutes ago Mundungus Fletcher, head of the Governing Committee arrived here. He had flown all the way from England, would you believe it to see me! The other eleven members of the Governing Committee had met yesterday, probably while we were stuck in that dratted airport. Since Chalep has disappeared a new Minister had to be chosen. Mundungus suggested me, and ten out of the eleven members agreed!" 

"Who was the eleventh?" 

"Take a guess! His name means 'dragon of bad faith'!" 

"Ah- got it! Well, congratulations! I know how ambitious you've always been and how much you've wanted to be Minister!" 

She smiled. "Now, how about the party? I believed there's going be dancing, and _you_ haven't danced with me for years. How about it?" 

"Sounds good to me!" They linked arms and descended to the heaving mass of politicians below that had been a political conference. 

~~*~~

**_ The Book_**

Tuesday, 27th September 2022, 20:38 p.m., The Guest Bedroom, Catherine's House, Chester (continued) 

Father owled me yesterday with the delightful news that my mother is Minister of Magic! This is brilliant news and Xanthia celebrated it with me by watching the whole first three episodes of Star Wars in a row! By the end I was very cross eyed but tum-ti-tumming along happily enough to _The Imperial March_. 

We would have watched Episodes four to six today, but Catherine insisted on getting me out of the house and dragged me to the Roman museum, which was actually extremely interesting! 

For some reason Catherine isn't so pleased with the news. She seems worried and says how much this is a burden upon my mother that she could well do without. I don't see the problem. As Xanthia pointed out, she will not be head of MESS any more, so we won't have so much work. 

My parents return tomorrow and to make up for abandoning me all Christmas, are going to take me to an Appleby Arrows game, where we will have prime boxes. My cup overfloweth. 

The only very tiny complaint I have is that I wish I could see the faces of Nero and Emilia Malfoy when they hear that my mother is Minister of Magic! Ha ha ha! 

_ Cassandra E. Potter_

~~*~~

It was a normal day on Tuesday 5th January 2023 at Malfoy Manor. Draco was reading reports in his study, from his game keepers on the capture and hopeful extermination of some gnomes found in the grounds. Elise, his wife, was in bed eating truffles and reading Volume Six of her favourite book, _Malfoys through the Ages_. Emilia was performing 'experiments' on some unlucky mice, with an abandoned disregard for Ministry rules and regulations. Nero was celebrating his fifteenth birthday by staring out of his bedchamber window. 

As far as the eye could reach there were rolling green fields with bare trees scattered round the flat countyside and by the banks of bubbling brooks that wound their way through towards the North sea. If he turned his head to the left he could just catch sight of a heaving grey mass that glimmered in the cold winter sunshine, the sea. There was a light frost over everything. It was a pleasant sight in summer, however. Why the Malfoys had chosen such a beautiful, quiet, gentle county as North Norfolk to settle in had been a mystery to Nero for as long as he could remember. Such a green county, so gentle- it was hardly Malfoyish! 

The Malfoys had originally come from France with William the Conqueror in 1066. Henri de Malfoi had been a common French soldier who had saved King William's life at the battle of Hastings. He had been given a dukedom and some land in Norfolk. He married the Countess Elizabeth Argent of a neighbouring estate, who had brought more land and plenty of money. This part of the family history was often best forgotten, since Elizabeth, though wealthy, was a muggle. Henri built a large castle on his and Elizabeth's land which stuck out in the country side like a sore thumb. 

Henri and Elizabeth had two sons- Jules and Clarence. When Henri died (in rather suspicious circumstances it has to be said), Jules inherited all the land and wealth. Clarence was to be a soldier. However, Clarence wanted the castle and the hand of pretty Isabella Montague who was betrothed to his brother. He returned to Castle Malfoi one night as a surprise and killed his brother while he was asleep. He took possession of the castle and lands and was married to Isabella (with whom he had been having an affair for a few years before) just a month later. It was with this glorious victory that the Malfoys considered they appeared in history. 

Lord William Malfoy was a protector of King Edward the sixth and Sir Frederick Malfoy had played a significant part in discovering the gun powder plot. 

The Malfoys had played a vital role during the Civil War though it is hard to find any records of whether they supported the Roundheads or the Cavaliers. Their allegiance was ever changing with the advancement of the troops. 

During the late eighteenth century, Sir Robert Malfoy decided to improve the now crumbling and unfashionable Castle Malfoi as a wedding present for his wife Julia Churchill, and built Malfoy Manor and a large, showy water garden in its place. 

Nero's mother's family was just as interesting. Marquis Alexandre Dupont had been a founder of Beauxbatons in 1597. He liked to think that he was a descendant of Julius Caesar but this has seemed to impartial historians to be improbable and unprovable. In the French revolution his great grandson fled to Italy for about twenty years, before returing with a different name as a humble farmer. He went into politics with the remainder of his fortune and his son was an aide de camp of Napoleon. 

Nero was proud of having such a diverse and mixed heritage. It was something not many people could boast about and Nero liked to boast about it quite a lot. On his fifteenth birthday, however, all he was hoping for were some nice presents and a big cake. It did not really bother him though, that the only birthday his father could be bothered to celebrate was his own. At Hogwarts all the Slytherins would give him an slap-up party in the common room. Snape would not object; he turned a blind eye wherever the Slytherins were concerned. Perhaps he could persuade Emilia to invite some of the girls in her year. He didn't want herself to come, since little sisters are never welcome at parties or her best friend Lucy Crabbe who was as ugly as hell. If only Lauretta Rosebin would come! She was by far the prettiest girl in third year, apart from perhaps Esmée Robinson only she was a Gryffindor and therefore unacceptable. 

The Gryffindors were getting on his nerves even more than usual. Just after he had insulted Cassandra Potter's mother, she had been made Minister of Magic. Damn Potter! Such a stupid, blind, stuck up, high and mighty, proud, plain girl! He had done a decent thing by her and how had she thanked him? By insulting him, physically attacking him and behaving hysterically. The only problem was that she was right. He _had_ saved her partly because he was afraid and wanted to leave. Who wouldn't be in that situation? If Potter had not been, then she was either very brave, a fool or both. It occurred to him that the last option seemed the most correct. After all, Gryffindors were meant to be courageous fools. He had never seen Cassandra Potter behave in a way that betrayed even the merest spark of intelligence. 

Her mother... now she was different. Nero admired Lady Potter, not that he would ever admit it. He thought she was very brave in a true sense of the word. He also thought that she was very clever and that if anyone would make a good Minister it was her. He might not agree with her principles, but he admired the way she stuck to them. His father had spent the past week sulking which was very boring and ineffectual. 

There was a knock on the door and a house elf entered whose name Nero could not even remember. His presence was requested in his father's study. Nero got up and followed the elf down the picture gallery to the study. Hopefully Draco had the new Nimbus Alpha 300 Nero had hinted about wanting. 

He didn't. There was no package anywhere in the room that could bear even the smallest resemblance to a broomstick. Draco Malfoy was leaning against his desk with his hands in his pockets. He didn't move when his son entered. "Close the door," was his only greeting. 

Nero closed the door and stood in front of his father. There was a long silence, then Draco moved to the window and gazed out. Finally he turned round and spoke solemnly, "Nero, happy 15th birthday!" 

"Thank-you, Father." He knew better than to press him. 

"Nero, I would now like to give you your present. But before I do, I would like you to swear secrecy. This conversation must never go outside of this room. What I am about to give you is a very special object. It is not only as old as the stars- I do not know how old, but it is cursed!" he hissed. 

"Brilliant. I've always wanted a cursed artifact. Thanks dad." 

Draco's eyes flashed. "I'm perfectly serious. What I am about to give you has been passed down through generations and generations of Malfoys from father to son. _My_ father gave it to me a few days before he was taken off to Azkaban. You are my heir, Nero, and it is time for you to come into part of your inheritance. I sense that there will be trouble coming to the world with _that_ woman taking power." 

"Will you show me what it is?" 

Draco took out a small parcel from his robe pocket and handed it to his son. Nero tore of the wrapping paper and looked at the small box that sat snugly in his palm, as if it had been made for that particular moment. It was an octagonal box, about one and a half inches thick, made of dark coloured wood. It smelt of antiquity and attics. Yet after all that time it was still in perfect condition. On the top were snakes looping round the edges carved into the wood. In the middle was something that looked like writing. Nero looked closely. 

There were two words that looked as though they could almost be English, only English did not have a triangle in its alphabet. It was not Ancient Runes because Nero was taking that subject and the letters did not look anything like that. There was a 'Y' then a funny symbol like a square with the bottom side missing. Then there was an 'E' and a 'P'. The next word started with a triangle then read 'YNAMIN'. 

Nero looked up at his father, "What does it say?" 

Draco looked uncomfortable, "I don't know! But it is cursed! You may not find out!" 

"I won't try." 

"Do you promise?" 

"Yes!" he replied staring firmly into his father's grey eyes. 

There was a gold catch on one of the sides- still untarnished. Nero's hand reached to open it. 

"No!" cried Draco twitching violently. "Don't open it! It's cursed! 

Nero rolled his eyes, "You don't say!" 

"Everyone who has opened it has died within a week!" 

"What a shame!" 

"Nero, you are not taking this seriously. This box belonged to our very ancestors and why it's cursed I don't know, but you must keep it and give it to your son in this way. Give me your word that you will never show it to anyone, open it, talk about it, or give it to anyone except your son. Not even your sister." 

"I wouldn't tell Milly my name if she asked it," he replied scornfully. Draco seemed satisfied. "Give me your word." 

Nero's hand wrapped round the box and he stared at his father. "I give you my word as your son." Like all Slytherins he was a good actor. 

Draco was not satisfied. "I would like to use contractual magic." He held out his hand. 

There was hurt and anger in his son's eyes. "Father! I gave you my word as your son! Must I swear it too? Don't you trust me?" 

Draco considered for a moment then lowered his hand. "Very well. I believe you. You may go." A rare smile appeared on his face. "Happy birthday, son." 

Nero left the room without speaking. He had no intention of keeping his word. After all, what harm ever came of opening a box? 

**Next Chapter**:_ It's all Greek to me! You'll have to wait and see. ;-) _

Give me a lovely present, and REVIEW! 

Silvestria 


	7. VI Pandora's Box

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(6/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 6- Pandora's Box _'Jem put his arm around me. "Hush, Scout," he said. "It ain't time to worry yet. I'll let you know when."'_ 'To Kill a Mockingbird' by Harper Lee. 

All the rest of the week before he returned to school Nero puzzled about the box. He took it out and handled it. He turned it upside down and shook it. He squinted at it. But he did not open it. Nero knew the meaning of the word _caution_, and though he had every intention of opening it eventually, he wanted to know what the writing meant first. If it said _there really is a curse on here and you're the biggest idiot in Norfolk if you open it_, then Nero might reconsider his decision. However, there were only two words and Nero did not know of any language in which such a wealth of meaning could be conveyed in such a small amount of writing. 

When he returned to Hogwarts he decided to look in the library. The Hogwarts' library was one of the best in Europe and would certainly contain what he needed. He copied the writing onto a piece of paper so he did not have to carry the box around. He kept that in his trunk, surrounded by many spells his father had taught him. He reflected that McGonagall would not like those spells if she found out about them, but of course Snape would get him out of trouble. 

However, researching a language was not such an easy task as he had assumed. Having never used the school library before there were a few things he did not know about it. Firstly he did not know where it was. 

After meandering aimlessly round the school in search of it for a few days (a fruitless proceedure as anyone who knows the geography of Hogwarts will agree with) he quizzed a studious looking Ravenclaw with a pile of books on Celtic mythology. However, Irina seemed to think his innocent query of "Hey- you going to the library? I'll help you carry your books!" was simply the worst chat up line invented and flatly told him that she was going to the Ravenclaw common room and a few other things as well. 

Eventually he ended up surreptitiously following Madame Pince the aged librarian. After taking a detour via the staffroom he found his impressive goal just as the bell rang for afternoon lessons. 

A fortnight after he had received the box for his birthday, Nero Malfoy grabbed a table in the library and started work. But he still needed to know a few more things about the school library. 

He had choosen the table with great care. It was a smallish one by the shelf marked 'Ancient Magical Languages'. There was a pleasant window next to the said table which he could stare out of if the search got tedious, which he was certain it would. The chair was one of the few leather ones left in the library and the whole section was in an out-of-the-way part of the room. 

He had no sooner sat down and started to collect his thoughts than a heavy book banged down on his hands. He stifled a squawk and looked up. Cassandra Potter had unceremoniously dropped _An Unforgiving Guide to Curses_ onto the table and whether accidentally, or on purpose, it had landed on his fingers. She placed her small hands on her hips and tried to look threatening. "Shift. This is _my_ place! I always sit here! I have work to do and you're not sitting here with me." 

"You're telling me that you have your very own place in the library? Well, why isn't it marked? _Specially reserved for her right royal highness, Princess Cassandra_! Get a life, Potter! I'll sit here if I want to." 

"Ahem, I think you're missing the point slightly. _I_ sit here and _you_ have to move." She seemed to be kicking up a bit too much of a row for the library. Unfortuantely this seemed to be her intention. Up came Madame Pince and glared at Malfoy. "I think you're disturbing Miss Potter, Mr. Malfoy. She has important work to do. Please leave at once." 

Cassandra sat down and gave him a triumphant glare over the top of her book. Nero couldn't believe his ears. Here was a member of staff who prefered that plain, underdeveloped, spoilt brat of a Gryffindor to him! Who thought her insignificant Defence Against the Dark Arts projects were more important than his Malfoy heirloom! Snape would hear about this! He made sure he trod on Cassandra's foot that was temptingly sticking out as he passed. 

In the end however, he did not tell Professor Snape about the incident, since that might have led to questions about what he was doing in the library. He wanted to avoid these. Nero liked to be popular with his fellow Slytherin students, and going to the library was not a good way to achieve this. 

Three days later he had found out when he had a free period that Cassandra did not, and having ascertained that she was safely stuck in Transfiguration, headed to the library. He had done it. Now came the part he had dreaded; the actual looking in the books. 

He searched for the script in many different languages. It was not Mermish- that had a script that appeared like different patterns of seaweed. It was not Troll which did not seem to have any pattern whatsoever. It might have been Ancient Double Dutch, since that language looked very much like the Latin script, until it turned out that it was actually something completely different. (This was one of the features of that language that accounted for why the scholars of Ancient Double Dutch made up such a large percentage of the permanent inhabitants of Saint Mungo's Mental Department.) Nero considered trying to learn Double Dutch before reaslising that there was not a triangle in the Latin script, and therefore not in the Ancient Double Dutch script. He was relieved; he had no desire to spend the rest of his days in the Saint Mungo's psychology department. 

At last, after a hard few days of research, he gave it up. The words on his box did not seem to be in any known Ancient Magical Language. He reasoned that it had to be ancient, since the box was ancient, and magical because no Malfoy would write in a muggle script, would they? 

He slouched out of the library, bumped into Irina, who was returning her copy of _The Once and Future King_ and tried to kiss her, just out of spite. He headed for the Slytherin dungeons. He had started down a staircase, when a voice hailed him from up above. "Wait- Nero Malfoy! One minute!" It was that stupid Latin teacher, Professor Shortstraw. The name had made Nero laugh very loudly when he had been an ignorant first year. That was until he realised that everyone had already made all the jokes it was possible to make about her and no-one thought he was being funny. You learnt fast, in Slytherin. 

What did she want with him? What did she want with anyone? The woman was lost to the living! Galloping gargoyles- she taught _Latin_ and enjoyed it! Nero did Latin; he didn't know why. Damn stupid waste of an OWL. Then again, he was doing Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as well which were both damn stupid wastes of OWLs. 

Professor Shortstraw climbed down to his level and the staircase abruptly changed. "Oh dear, oh dear!" she cried, grabbing onto the banister. "This always seems to happen when I use a Hogwarts' staircase! I can't for the life of me think why." 

Nero put his bored, uninterested face on. The stairs clicked into place and he continued down it. Professor Shortstraw tried to persuade him to wait. "I say, Nero! The stairs are heading straight for the second floor language corridor! How lucky! Do you think you could step into my office for a few minutes?" 

When a teacher asks you to go with them to their office there is no argument. Nero followed her slowly, his face angry, unwilling and bored. Professor Shortstraw, however, did not get the idea. 

She opened her door and Nero stepped into her office. It was quite large, since she was a Head of Department. There was a large wooden desk with plenty of junk on it and a bowl of grapes. The walls were decorated with blown up photographs of archeological sites. On her desk was a framed muggle photo of a tanned young woman who looked a lot like Professor Shortstraw twenty five years younger leaning on a broken pillar in a mediterranean summer landscape and gripping a trowel. 

"Do sit down, Nero!" she said, clearing a space on her desk. "Have some grapes! They've come straight from Italy. Oh, don't worry- they're washed." 

Nero took one grape, looked at it hard and then ate it. "What did you want to see me about?" he asked eventually. 

"I'd just like to clarify what happened at that disastrous meeting at Christmas. You said you found Cassandra fighting a dangerous man. Do you know who he was?" 

"No," Nero lied. "I don't know who he was." 

Professor Shortstraw nodded. "So how did you know he was dangerous?" she asked. 

"He looked dangerous. Besides, anyone dueling with a child must be dangerous." 

She wrote something down and looked back up at him, "Are you _sure_ you didn't know him?" 

Her gaze was making Nero uncomfortable. He tried not to squirm, "I didn't know him, Professor." 

Professor Shortstraw stood up, "Very well. It was kind of you to wait." 

The interview was over. Nero stood up and took another grape. Just as he was leaving the room he was struck by an idea. Who knew more about languages than any other witch or wizard at Hogwarts? Who was so seeped in the ancient world that she even had posters of it, where other people would have popstars? He turned round. "Professor, could you help me with something?" 

"Certainly! Come back in and sit down!" 

He shut the door and sat down in front of the large expanse of clutter on her desk. She watched him and waited for him to start. Slowly he took a piece of paper from his pocket. He looked up at her curious stare. "I found this, and I wondered if you knew what it meant?" He pushed the paper over a small space of free desk. 

She picked it up and her eyes widened. Her cheeks became flushed and she smiled over the parchment at him. "Well I never! How extraordinary! How very interesting!" 

Nero forced himself to be patient. "What does it _mean_? Do you know?" 

She seemed almost offended, "Know? Of course I know what it means! But really, this is fascinating! Where did you find it, Nero? You didn't pluck it out of thin air, I presume?" 

"I found it... I found it in the Slytherin common room!" _There's somewhere she would not be able to look_! 

"Really? It's amazing all these things that are right under our eyes and we never see them!" She looked back down at the parchment. "But- I! _Where abouts_ in the Slytherin common room?" 

Nero's mind worked fast. "Under a chair, which I was moving...so that I could...er...sit on it!" 

"How very bizarre!" She frowned. 

Nero gritted his teeth, "So, you know what it means?" 

"Yes, of course I know!" 

"So, what _does_ it mean?!" 

She smiled, "It's Ancient Greek of course, and if you come round next to me- that's right, I'll show you exactly what it means." 

"It's Greek? But there weren't wizards living in Greece, were there?" 

She looked shocked, "Wizards not live in Greece! Why Nero, Greece had one of the biggest magical populations ever! Most of the spells we use today came from Greece originally! If you study Latin in sixth year then you'll learn all about the origin of spells. It's quite fascinating!" 

"Well, it's in Greek..." prompted Nero, mentally kicking himself for not looking in the right place in the library. Greek was not a magical language, yet it had been used by wizards. 

"Ah yes. Well, I imagine it was the script that was puzzling you, wasn't it?" 

Nero nodded. 

"Well, what it says is _huper dunamin_!" 

"Really," said Nero flatly. 

"You see, the Y is pronounced 'hu' in this case. Would you like me to explain why? I'm sure you'll find it very interesting!" 

"I think I'll be fine without knowing, thank-you all the same, Professor." 

She looked disappointed but continued all the same, "The second letter is capital Pi. I assume you know Pi! You do Arithmancy, don't you? Pi r2 for circles, isn't it?" 

"The area, yes." 

"So many years since I've studied Maths I'm afraid I'm a bit rusty. Anyway, the E is an e, the P however, is an r- just to confuse us! The triangle is a capital Delta- a d. You know why it looks like a triangle?" 

Nero obviously did not. 

"They thought the delta of a river looked like a triangle!" 

"How amazing!" said Nero without enthusiasm. "What does it mean?" 

But Professor Shortstraw was not to be hurried. It was not often that she had someone walking into her office with a piece of Ancient Greek to be translated. "The rest of it is like English. Now as for what it means... well, _huper_ is a preposition. It means beyond and takes the accusative case. _Dunamis_ is a noun and in it's accusative is _dunamin_. You see? Perfectly simple really!" 

Nero took a few deep breaths, "Professor Shortstraw, will you please tell me what it means!" 

"Didn't I mention it? It means 'Beyond one's power'! _Dunamis_ means power. It's an odd thing to find lying under a chair in the common room, don't you think?" 

"Oh yes," replied Nero, "very odd indeed! Thanks awfully. May I have the paper back please?" He had no intention of leaving it with the Head of Gryffindor. He had a feeling she'd probably lose it, but he could not be sure. 

She gave it back to him, frowning again. "Wait a moment- I've just thought!" She jumped over a pile of boxes and plucked a bright orange book off a shelf. The front cover fell off as she searched for the right page. She held it open for him to see, "Look! Your very sentence has been used as an example for prepositions! Somebody learning Greek must have dropped their work." 

Nero thought it was very unlikely that there were any closet Greek students in Slytherin, but if the idea satisfied the teacher, he didn't care. 

"Now I mention it, Nero, if you like, keep a hold of this book for a while. You show great promise in Latin and I'd love to teach you Greek as well!" 

Nero almost fell over in shock. 

"Now, I teach Cassandra on Tuesday evenings, but I appreciate you might not want to learn with her- you're not the best of friends, are you? so how about Thursays?" 

Nero tried to thrust the textbook back at her, but she would not take it. "I really don't think that..." he protested. 

"Good! I'll see you then!" He pushed his way to the door as fast as possible, letting a piece of parchment flutter to the floor as he passed her desk. She picked it up and stopped him yet another time. "Ah! I knew there was something else! Nero, I don't seem to have your essay on the role of the Roman witch." 

He stopped in his tracks and made a face at the door. "No, you don't." 

She placed the essay back on her desk and pursed her lips, mildly reproachful. "Well, do you think I could have it then?" 

"Yes." He opened the door. 

"When will I get it?" 

"Tomorrow." 

"Make sure I _do_ get it, will you? I don't want to have to supervise you doing it in my room." 

"No." Nero did not want to be supervised either. At last she let him go. As he walked back to the dungeons he hid the textbook under his robes and cursed his bad luck. He would have to do the stupid essay after quidditch practice that evening. What a _wonderful_ life his was! 

~~*~~

If there had not been the threat of the Latin essay hanging over him Nero would have enjoyed quidditch practice very much. It gave him a chance to show off his new Nimbus Alpha 300. Disappointed that he had not received the broomstick for his birthday, he had himself raided his Gringott's vault and bought the model. 

The Nimbus Alpha 300 was an even better broom than the Thunderbolt 4 from rival company Lightening Bolt. (Could there be the slightest possibility that the companies were running out of names for their models?) The Malfoys never patronized Lightening Bolt because it was owned by Harry Potter. However, they had plenty of shares with Nimbus in the hope that they would gain a monopoly over Lightening Bolt. Nevertheless, the other company seemed to be doing just as well. 

The Gryffindor Quidditch teams all played on Lightening Bolt models most of which had been donated by Gryffindor's most illustrious ex-student, Harry Potter. The Slytherin teams were still on Nimbus XXXs, relatively old brooms by now. However, with their seeker on an Alpha 300 Cassandra had no chance of catching the Snitch before he did. 

The Alpha 300 was the best broom ever made; the sort of model like the Silver Arrow and Firebolt had done before it that would revolutionerize flying as it was currently known. As well as being able to reach higher speeds than ever before it included Thought-Response steering, a moveable cushion for maximized comfort, an inbuilt tracking system which alerted the flyer if they were approaching a solid object (as if they wouldn't know!), inbuilt compass, thermometer, speedial, barometer and a rain shield. The launch of the Nimbus Alpha 300 onto the mass market had promoted an article by Emma Shortstraw in _Witch Weekly_ entitled _Are broomsticks becoming the mobile phones of the wizarding world?_ Enough said. 

Nero bragged about the broom to the sluggish lot of morons that was the Slytherin house Quidditch team; an activity that was less satisfying than it should have been. Showing off is not much fun when the audience does not understand that it is to compliment. He had already shown the Alpha 300 to his girlfriend, Joan; she had said the right things but she had also given him a big kiss, which considering Joan kissed like a pike with paralysis, this was not a very obvious gain. Nero was considering breaking up with her at an appropriate moment. Perhaps Valantine's Day would do. 

After having a hot shower Nero sat down at a table in the common room, opened his textbook, named very originally by the author, _The Romans_ and stared at the page on Roman women. He stood up again, put on a few more articles of clothing (the Slytherin dungeons being particularly damp, cold and uninviting at half past ten at night in mid January), wrote the following phrase- _'The role of the Roman witch was-'_ and realised that it would not do. 

He could not stop thinking about the box and what was written on it. The translation Professor Shortstraw had given for the Greek (which he had no reason for doubting) was singularly un-illuminating. 'Beyond one's power.' Beyond who's power? What was beyond one's power? 

Nero had two theories about the box. Either it was a hoax, or it was not a hoax. He decided to rule out the former possibility first, before tackling the more perplexing latter one. He leant back in his chair and stared at dying embers of the fire. He shoved the Latin essay into his bag; it was giving him a guilty conscience, chewed the end of his quill and thought. 

If his birthday present was a hoax, and there was a very big _if_, then there seemed to be a certain number of questions that needed answering. Nero, being a methodical young person, took a piece of parchment and after half an hour's solid labour came up with the following results. 

_** Person**: Draco Malfoy _

** Reasons for**: -He gave me the box himself. 

** Reasons against**: -He seemed genuinely afraid of it. 

-He's not clever enough to think up meaningless bits of Ancient Greek, but could_ have got it from the textbook. _

**Why**: -He might want to see how worthy I am as his heir. Depending on whether I open the box or not he can judge how much of a Malfoy I am. 

-It might be a good way of not spending money on my birthday. 

**What did he hope to achieve by it**: See above. 

**Queries posed**: -Why would he look in a muggle Greek textbook for a pointless phrase? Is that Malfoy behaviour? 

-How could he make it appear so old without the help of a Histowizard? 

^^^^^^^

** Person**: Professor Shortstraw 

** Reasons for**: She knows Ancient Greek and has the expertise to be able to make it look authentic. 

**Reasons against**: -Why on earth would she do it??! 

- She seemed really surprised by it. She is not much of an actress. 

** Why**: Possibly to get me interested in learning Ancient Greek. Couldn't she have done it in a more straightforward way? 

** What could she hope to achieve**: My becoming interested in Greek. 

** Queries posed**: -If the above statement is true, WHY ME? 

-How would she ever persuade my father to co-operate with her? Why would that be necessary? 

-Why go the bother of the 'Curse if you open it' palavar if the interest was on the writing on the top? 

^^^^^^^

** Person**: A. N. Other 

** Reasons for**: -A practical joke. 

-A stranger could easily have imposed themselves on my father with a spot of mysticism and a good story. There's always money. Could Dad have been bribed or even blackmailed? That would explain his fear. 

** Reasons against**: Why would anyone want to play a practical joke on _me_? 

** Why**: If the box really was cursed, then to curse me though why I cannot imagine. Or could Mr. Other just be playing a very silly or elaborate joke with no visible gain to anyone. 

** What could they hope to achieve**: If it was a practical joke then to make me look silly in some way to their amusement. Does the box contains a spell that will make me recite Shakespeare love sonnets to Professor Snape during breakfast or the like? 

(Here, I am afraid to say, Nero was a little distracted from the task in hand by writing this novel idea down on his cuff as a possible idea for a Valantine's present for his sister.)__

If the box was not a joke, then they might achieve my discomfort or more extremely, my death. Either way, Mr. A. N. Other does not like me very much! 

** Queries posed**: -Who is behind it? 

-If my father was blackmailed then how and why and by whom? 

-Who wants to injure or kill me? 

After studying these points carefully Nero came to the conclusion that Professor Shortstraw could be instantly wiped off the list. Personally he thought the A. N. other suggestion was the most plausible. 

Nero yawned. The fire had completely gone out and there was a damp chill throughout the dungeon. It was definitely time for bed. Nero read through his work and made sure he knew it off by heart before tearing it to shreads and scattering them among the ashes. You could never be too careful. 

He entered his dormitory and shoved his room mate Pip Blofeld almost through the green, frayed and worn through hangings of his four poster and onto the floor in the hope the movement might stop his snoring. It didn't, but it afforded Nero a little satisfaction. 

He was subjected all night to an odd dream involving Cassandra Potter in a toga with 'I am sexy' written on the front of it and waving a big ruby encrusted sword saying that she wanted to eat stuffed doormice, was going to save the world and that she was untouchable and completely beyond his power. Had Nero been able to remember the dream afterwards he would have found it worrying. 

~~*~~

The morning passed as most mornings generally did for Nero. He showed off in Potions and earned Slytherin a couple of points and he came top in an Arithmancy test. But even 95.5% was not enough to satisfy Professor Vector. Giving Pip Blofeld back his test (he had come bottom as usual) with a despairing glance at the rest of the class she gave them the 'getting back tests talk'. 

"Well," she had said, "I suppose you're no worse than any other class I've ever taught, but it always amazes me why people with absolutely no mathematical or linguistical talent should choose a subject needing so much of both! Now this test wasn't badly done; not badly done at all, though it could have been done better. It is quite clear that some people have no interest in passing their OWLs in my subject. Well, it is disappointing to me after I've put so much hard work into teaching you, but only to be expected, I suppose. If you want to get an OWL in Arithmancy then you'll have to work during the course. Don't expect to get 100% if you don't." She shrugged and shook her head with a sigh. "Not that it's my problem if you don't care. Now this year's third years are really rather brilliant. If I gave this test to young Cassandra Potter, even if she hasn't covered the work, I'm sure she'd do better than the best of you. What a clever girl she is. None of you are remotely like her at all!" 

"And thank God for that!" thought the class. If they could be bothered to ask anyone who had ever done Arithmancy, they would soon find out that 'this year's third year' is always 'rather brilliant'. Even Nero's class kindly called a 'disgraceful bunch of uninterested sloths' by Professor Vector, were once the object of envy to other classes. 

After Arithmancy Nero did his Latin essay under cover of taking notes in History of Magic. When he had done it he placed it just inside of Professor Shortstraw's office with the pleasure of someone who has just done their good deed of the year. 

With the morning lessons out of the way Nero had lunchtime to think about the box. Having thought extensively on whether it was a hoax or not, he had to turn his thoughts to the possibily it wasn't. 

Nero gathered his facts together. 

- The box was a cursed Malfoy heirloom. 

- It has the words 'Beyond one's power' written on the top in Ancient Greek. 

- If the words are translated then there is a curse. _(Well, that did not seem to have kicked into play yet!_) 

- If the box is opened then there is a curse. 

- It should be given to Nero's son in just such a way as it was given to Nero. 

- No one must know about it. 

Nero did not think that his father's statement that _all the people who had opened it had died within a week_ should be counted as a fact. How would Draco know? He was not very interested in history- even of the Malfoys. 

There were many questions posed by these facts, which Nero tried to answer: 

- _When was it made? By whom? Why?_

It was made a long time ago. When Ancient Greek was still useful (if that was ever the case). It was made by a demented Malfoy. No idea why- because he was mad? Possibly to guard something precious. 

- _What sort of curses are on it? Why is it cursed at all?_

No idea what type. Perhaps to protect what was inside. 

- _Why on _earth_ does it have Ancient Greek meaningless rubbish on it?_

Because this loopy Malfoy felt like it. He wanted to make people waste their time trying to figure out what it meant and so give up opening it. Or to warn people not to open it; because everbody understands Greek, don't they? 

- _What happened if Nero did not have a son?_

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it. 

And most importantly: _What was in the box?_

Well, that was the question! 

When he had read these notes through Nero realised that they all pointed in one direction: the contents of the box. Nothing more could be gleaned from the outside. If Nero was to find out anything about his birthday present (which he certainly intended to do) then, curse or no curse, the box would have to be opened.

~~*~~

Nero thought long and hard about when he should open it. Eventually he came to the conclusion that it should be attempted when there were not many people around so that he could have some privacy. The weekend of the 28th January was a Hogsmeade weekend. He could pretend to be ill. 

He planned it to perfection. The week before he made out to everyone who might care that he was allergic to peanuts. Friday night he ate three tarts containing peanuts, but pretended to only realise afterwards. He complained heavily about feeling sick. The next morning, however, there was something he had not bargained for. This apparition came to him in the unwelcome form of Joanne Patience Witherspoon, or Nero's girlfriend. She hung about his armchair in the common room til he thought she'd never go. 

"Oh, Nero, don't send me away! I can't leave you here, all alone and so ill! I'll stay with you all day- I mean it!" 

And the worst thing was, that she did. But Nero insisted on being hardhearted, "I'm so sorry, Joan, but you'll have to tear yourself away from me. I do know it's difficult, but please try. I couldn't bear to think of you wasting your day here with me when you could be out in Hogsmeade enjoying yourself." 

Joan seemed shocked. "Oh, cruel, cruel Nero! You know that I can never be happy without you! I love you, Nero! I really do! You're the sweetest thing alive!" (Here Pip coughed slightly and turned away, wondering if she'd ever leave since he wanted to meet Nero's bewitching little sister at the Three Broomsticks.) 

Joan leaned over the back of the armchair and tried to kiss Nero who recoiled in horror saying, "Oh, I wouldn't kiss me, if I were you, Joan!" He waved his supposedly dirty handkerchief in her face. 

She pouted, "Why not?" 

"It might be contagious! I couldn't have you catching anything, could I?" 

Joan's big, grey eyes narrowed, "Allergies aren't catching where I come from." 

Nero leaned closer to her and replied seriously, "Well, they might be here. You never can tell with Hogwarts." 

Joan looked slightly frightened and took a step backwards, "Do you really think so?" 

Nero nodded, "I do indeed." 

"You never can tell with Hogwarts," she repeated thoughfully. 

Pip looked at his watch, "Are you coming? We'll miss the girls!" 

Joan looked anxiously from Pip to Nero and choose Pip, to the other's great gratification. "In that case," she said, blushing, "perhaps I'd better go to Hogsmeade after all. I- I've never felt very well since I ran all the way to Divination. It's my heart, you know. I'm not very strong, you know. You're right, Nero darling, I think I should go. You don't mind, do you?" 

"Not at all," replied Nero sincerely. 

"I do hope you get better soon. Come on Pip!" And they swept from the common room to Nero's inexpressive delight. He picked up the Greek textbook and threw it hard in the direction of the door. 

Joan definitely had to go as soon as possible. He had never asked her out. He had asked her about some Herbology and the next minute she had her arms around him saying how much she loved him! Nero could never see how a question on homework could be interpreted as a declaration of endless passion, but Joan could and Joan had. Still, he had thought that any girlfriend was better than no girlfiend. He was beginning to doubt that now he had been seeing her for two months. He dearly wished he could find someone _clever_, but intelligent people were hard to come by in Slytherin. 

Once he was sure that all was relatively quiet in the Slytherin common room he retired to his dormitory and fetched the box. He held it in front of him and had his hand on the untarnished gold catch when he was struck with the most uncanny impression that there was something he had forgotten. Nero was not afraid of the curse (if there was one) but he couldn't help thinking that there was something really obvious that he had missed. He started to lift the catch and remembered. If the curse (if there was a curse) was on the person who opened the box, then surely it would be better to have someone else open it without knowing what they were doing. 

Emilia. Nero's sister could open it and he certainly did not mind if _she_ were cursed. But Milly had gone to Hogsmeade and was not available. Nero took a look round the common room and spied a second year who was recovering from a nosebleed and looking perfectly miserable. He approached. The second year jumped and sniffed and then groaned. Nero held out the box. 

"Are you any good at opening things? I can't get this open and it's a birthday present." 

The boy sniffed again and took a look at it. "What does it say on the top of it?" he asked suspiciously between sniffs. 

"Happy Birthday in Ancient Runes," lied Nero. "Please open it. I'll give you two sickles if you do." 

The boys eyes lit up. "All right then," sniff "you're on!" 

The boy pulled the catch up, Nero watching anxiously from behind, and kept pulling. The box wouldn't open. The boy looked up. "Look's like you've got a problem here. I can't seem to get the catch undone either." 

This was an unexpected and unwelcome blow. Nero snatched the box from the young Slytherin and glared ferociously. "All right! No sickles for you! Huh!" And he swept away glowering into the dormitory. The boy sniffed harder and Nero slammed the door. 

He chucked the box onto his bed and followed it up himself. He tried to think the matter out but instead couldn't concentrate on anything except how unlucky he was. After lunch- a lonely affair in the Great Hall- he did his homework and then the others returned home. 

Pip, it seemed, had made his first conquest. The girl was a fifth year Gryffindor called Rebecca and Pip had already been to see the appropriate seventh year to get his five galleons. 

About eight years ago, a sixth year Slytherin whose name has escaped me tempted a Gryffindor sixth year girl into having sex with him. This was thought such a daring proceedure by all (since Gryffindors and Slytherins were not meant to have relationships) that his friends gave this lucky Slytherin quite a bit of prize money. The sixth year thought this was good fun (especially since he was on the receiving end of the money) and set up a business. It soon became very popular and as the years progressed the rules got taughter. By now the minimum age to join in was sixteen (for going all the way) and thirteen for just kissing, and the girl had to be a Gryffindor. The money was collected by some seventh years who formed a committee and came from the betting. Five galleons were awarded for a kiss; seven if it was a Weasley. Ten galleons if you slept with her; fifteen if she were a virgin or a Weasley. Twenty if she were both. 

The whole school knew about it and it was accepted that this was the only way a Gryffindor and a Slytherin could get together without breaking the firm laws of their respective houses. Even most of the Gryffindor girls were aware of its presence but only complained if their seducer was not good looking. 

If it had not been for beautiful Esmerelda Robinson, Nero would have thought it was all a waste of time. He was not even sure that the seductions actually happened since it did seem a little odd that none of the members of staff ever seemed to notice this strange promiscuity that raged through the hormones of the older Hogwarts alumni. 

Well, so Pip had started to play the game. Big deal. Nero was in a bad mood so he headed outside for a walk. The quidditch pitch was illuminated and he went to watch the practice and possibly get some ideas for the Slytherin team. 

It was the Gryffindor main team that was practising and he lurked in the shadows where they could not see him. He laughed as their small third year seeker pulled herself through the air with the speed of a dormant snail. How she needed a new broom! 

The captain's mind seemed to be thinking that way as well. She blew her whistle and the team floated down to earth. "I say, Cassandra- you're doing a find job, but you really need to go faster!" 

Cassandra scruffed the ground with her boot and said nothing. Pathetic, thought Nero. Really pathetic. Call that the behaviour of a true Gryffindor! 

The captain was patient. "The point is, Toby told me, strictly in confidence, that the Hufflepuff team has got an order of seven new Alpha 300s which will arrive the day before the Valantine's Day match. We _need_ to go faster. Cassandra has no chance of catching the snitch if she's only on a Thunderbolt 4. Think about it. Team- bed!" 

Nero slunk off back to the castle, his good mood restored. Watching Cassandra Potter have a semi public put down had very peculiar medicinal qualities. 

~~*~~

The morning dawned fresh, clear and cold. Nero felt his luck was in, for once. Today, Sunday the 29th January was the day the box would be opened. He had thought, during the night about why that second year could not open it and had come to the conclusion that he was the only one who could. The idea made him feel important. 

After breakfast he took it into the empty dormitory (the rest of the year was in Hogsmeade) and placed his finger on the catch. It was all or nothing. He prized the catch up and lifted the lid. 

He had been prepared for all manner things to be inside it. Curses that acted as jack-in-the-boxes, ancient pieces of parchment that were maps leading to buried treasure, the One Ring (though that idea Nero admitted was a little far fetched) and many other less likely possibilities. But nothing could have prepared him for what _was_ in it. 

The box was empty. 

This was not strictly true. At the bottom of it was some green satin with padding behind it. There was a little dip in the centre as if something should be sitting on the material. There was quite a lot of old air that had made Nero cough. 

Nero had never felt so disappointed. He let out a long breath of air and then kicked the bed, which solved slightly less than nothing. 

He then proceeded to spent the rest of the morning prodding and poking it and searching with both physical and magical means for secret compartments. But there were none. 

The explanation was obvious. There should have been something in the box; and there was not. 

~~*~~

Nero was so vexed with the whole resolution of the past few weeks of torment that he threw the box across the room and spent the rest of the day doing French grammar exercises with an almost unknown vigour. He went to bed bad-tempered. 

But even sleep was not able to refresh him. For hours he lay awake tossing and turning on his four-poster until Adonis Jones and Pip Blofeld, who slept in the same dormitory, complained loudly. At last, some hours after midnight Nero finally fell into an uneasy slumber, haunted by dreams. 

He dreamt of the dark ages; of castles and knights and hilltops aflame with fire. He dreamt of wars and fighting and amist all of this was a small stone, greenish in colour which seemed to be at the centre of all of the confusion. A tall, regal man in long green and black robes stood on the top of a mountain, fire spewing across the background, robes billowing, leaning on a knarled staff. His face was sharp and olive coloured, his eyes black; he had a triangular shaped goatee beard and longish, black hair. Behind him a red moon rose high into the sky, illuminating the clouds in an unearthly glow. With a smile, he raised his right hand into the air and in it was the above mentioned stone. He held it aloft and all around were the screams of men, women and children... 

Nero woke up, shaking. It was still dark. Outside, the wind howled round the castle. He shivered. According to his watch, it was four o'clock in the morning. Pip was snoring and Adonis was grunting in his sleep about a girl called Natalie. The night before, Nero recollected, she had been called Katie. 

He took a drink of water and snuggled back down between the green and silver blankets when a voice spoke next to his ear. He sat up in bed, and stifled a scream. The voice said, "So, you opened it at last." 

Nero's teeth were chattering, though whether this was from fear (surely not) or the lack of central heating in the dormitory it is hard to ascertain. He replied in a whisper, "W-w-who are y-y-you?" 

The really frightening thing was, you see, there was no-one there. The Voice said, "Do you want to know where it is?" 

"_Who are you_?" Nero repeated. 

"Answer my question, and I might answer yours." The Voice was soft and smooth, with a tinge of cynism in it. 

"That depends on what _it_ is." 

"The contents of my box, idiot." 

"_Your_ box?" 

"I thought we had made an agreement about that. _I_ ask the questions around here. Yes, it is my box. _I_ made it, it was all _my_ idea, _I_ engraved the Greek on it and _I_ cursed it." 

"So there is a curse on it?" asked Nero, swallowing hard. 

"Yes, there is a curse. However, if you do what I say, it will not touch you." 

"That's good!" said Nero with a shaky laugh. He had finally come to the conclusion that the box was _not_ a hoax. 

"Are you listening, boy?" 

"Yes." 

"Tomorrow night, go to Salazar's Cross and I will tell you all you want to know." 

"Uh, tomorrow night's no good. It's my birthday party." 

"And that is more important than this?" The Voice sounded annoyed. 

"Yes! Adonis has booked a stripper from _The Green Umbrella_ club for the over eighteens." 

The Voice sounded almost amused as he replied, "Well, everyone is young at one time. The day after tomorrow, then. That is the last day of January." 

"Where is Salazar's Cross?" whispered Nero. 

The Voice let out a loud sigh. "Is it conceivable? You have been at Hogwarts for four years... but no matter. Salazar's Cross, you deficient, unworthy louse, is the grave of Salazar Slytherin. It is on a little hill next to the forest. Go behind the gamekeeper's hut and keep to the forest until the land begins to rise. Then you'll find it. If you do not come, you will die." 

"I will come," Nero replied, slightly offended at having been called a louse by something that did not even have a body. 

"Goodnight." 

And that was that. The Voice spoke no more. Nero pulled back the hangings of his fourposter; all was still. No-one else seemed to have heard his conversation. 

  
~~~

**Next Chapter**: _Cassandra gets involved and behaves very stupidly. More shennigans to do with Nero's box. _

I do hope you will REVIEW. 

I KNOW it's been a long time, but forgive me, and here's the next chapter! :)

~Silvestria~ 


	8. VII

_Title: CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine(7/?) _

Author: Silvestria 

E-mail: silvestria_fanfiction@yahoo.co.uk 

Category: General 

Rating: PG-13 

Spoilers: All books 

Summary: Sequal to 'Harry Potter and the Unbreakable Link'. The ultimate next generation story containing large doses of mystery, adventure, romance (especially triangles!) and humour. Secrets, blackmailing, prophecies and lots of the old saving the world ploy. Read and review please! 

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 7 _Ain't it funny how a moment can just change your life, And you don't want to face what's wrong or right, Ain't it strange how fate can play a part, In the story of your heart._ -'Ain't it funny' by Jennifer Lopez 

Nero would never know how he got through Monday. He rushed through his homework in the evening and at ten o'clock Pip and Adonis left for Hogsmeade. Pip went to _The Three Broomsticks_ to pick up the butterbeers and Honeydukes for sweets and a massive birthday cake. Adonis went to meet his elder brother who worked in _The Green Umbrella_ and was bringing the stripper, and some stronger drinks than butterbeers. 

They returned about an hour later, though without Lydia, the stripper. Apparently she had eaten too many Magic Mushrooms the night before and was completely indisposed. All were sorely disappointed. 

The rest of the evening was a flop. Everyone was edgy because they were afraid of being caught and Adonis' brother got so drunk he became a liability. Nero discovered that midnight feasts are not as much fun in practice as they in theory. 

He woke up late, with a slight hangover and arrived ten minutes after the bell to Transfiguration. Professor Maxime ranted at him about people who waste their own and everybody else's time for the rest of the lesson in Franglais and set them extra homework. 

He kept his head down for the rest of the day and at eleven o'clock stealthily dressed himself and went outside. Ever since Filch had retired the year before Cassandra had come to Hogwarts, vigilence had been less strict. Nero found it very easy to get out. He crept round to the Forbidden Forest and past Hagrid and Maxime's hut and was about to climb the hill, when he heard a sneeze. 

It was not just any sneeze. It was long drawn out and noisy. It went- "A- a- at_choo_!" 

Nero froze and hid himself behind a tree. Slowly, when his heart stopped thumping he peered round the trunk. There was someone standing on the top of the hill, right next to a celtic cross. That, thought Nero, must be Salazar's Cross. And there was someone waiting there! 

Judging from her silouette it was a female. Quite a tall female, swathed in dark robes and a cloak. There was no moon, so Nero could not tell whether they were black or dark green or navy blue. The night was cold and cloudy. There was a stiff breeze blowing from the north. The woman's robes whipped about her legs as she stood on the summit, next to the ancient stone. She sneezed again and pulled out a large, white handkerchief. She blew her nose noisily. 

Here, thought Nero, was someone who did not care for concealment! Meanwhile, he did not know what to do. He was getting cold, it was beginning to drizzle and he did not dare move closer to the cross, nor did he dare not keep his appointment. 

Suddenly someone was there next to the woman. He had come from nowhere. Nero jumped and the woman jumped too. She was more articulate. 

"Oh, Aragorn- you did scare me!" 

Nero realised who she was and was even more astonished. It was Professor Shortstraw! _What_ was she doing meeting a man at midnight at the furthest point of the grounds from the school! She certainly did not seem to be the sort of person who would be unfaithful to her husband. 

"I'm sorry, Athena," replied the man gruffly. 

Nero thought there was something very odd going on with the names. Since when was Professor Shortstaw called Athena? He knew that her initials were C. A. and perhaps her middle name was Athena. It was improbable that it should be and even if it was, why could not she just be called by her first name, which Nero prided himself on knowing. (Every pupil gets a kick from knowing their teachers' first names and Nero was no exception.) 

The man's name was also odd. Nero had read _Lord of the Rings_ many times; it was one of his favourite books, and he knew perfectly well who Aragorn was. _Renewed shall be blade that was broken/ The crownless again shall be king_ and all that. Why was he called Aragorn? 

"Is that what I think it is?" asked Professor Shortstraw/Athena. She was pointing to something in the man's hand, which Nero could not see. 

Aragorn laughed slightly. "Oh, this? Yes, it is. I've had it for ages; it was my father's. It comes in very useful here, where you can't apparate." Nero caught a glimpse of shiny, transluscent silver. 

"Well," continued the man, "what did you want to see me about?" 

"Is Eowyn coming tonight?" asked Professor Shortstraw. 

"No, she couldn't make it. She's very busy at the moment, what with, you know, this and that." 

Here was another mystery! When Nero had heard the word _Eowyn_ a part of him had thrilled at the sound. For years Eowyn had been his heroine. There was something about a handsome, brave girl carrying a sword and doing fantastic things that appealed to Nero very much. He had imagined Eowyn as a real person; someone he could speak to and fall in love with. He had dreamt about meeting her and what he'd say. She had seemed very real to him. And here were Aragorn and Athena talking about her as if she were an ordinary mortal! 

"I wanted to ask your advice, Aragorn, about something that happened to me." 

"Fire away." _Why_ did his voice sound so familiar? 

"A few weeks Nero Malfoy came to see me with something he had found-" Nero's ears picked up. They were talking about him- the swines! "-in the Slytherin common room." 

"We're talking about Draco Malfoy's son here, aren't we?" 

"Yes. I asked him to come and see me about something else, but he showed me the paper of his own free will." 

"Hmm, interesting. And what was on this paper?" 

It was in Greek and it meant 'beyond one's power'. He said he found it behind a chair in the common room. I know for a fact he didn't!" 

"Really? How come?" 

"The handwriting." 

"It was his?" 

"Yes." 

"And you recognised it, just like that?" 

"I will not insult your intelligence, Aragorn! I pore over two translations, one essay and a vocabulary test of his every week till I'm cross eyed and have done for one and a half years, and you tell me I might not recognise his writing!" 

"All right, all right. I'm sorry. What did you do?" 

"Do? I translated it for him and gave him a Greek grammar book in the hope he might want to start learning." 

"Listen, if you want to start a campaign to get people to learn Ancient Greek, you'd better collaborate with H- I mean Eowyn. Tell me what you did with the words. 'Beyond one's power', was it? What do you think it means? Is it something we should be worrying about?" 

"I very much think it is. I don't know how it came into young Malfoy's hands, but that he is a _Malfoy_ is enough for me to be wary if he brings something in which is Greek." 

"What do you mean, Athena?" 

"Well, when I was working at the Museum of Ancient Magic, before I started teaching, I found out a few things about our heritage. Did you know, for example, that Salazar Slytherin's great-grandfather was an extremely wealthy freed slave, a Greek? and that his son went into the army where he achieved the position of legionary and eventually settled in South Britain when he retired. He had two children, Lucius, the father of Salazar and Elena, the mother of Godric Gryffindor." 

"So," said Aragorn slowly, "you think the Greek Malfoy junior found is somehow connected with Slytherin? You think Slytherin knew Greek?" 

"I think there is a strong probability that he did know Greek. And I definitely think that Nero's writing has something to do with Slytherin." 

"How do you think Malfoy will behave regarding it?" 

"I can't say, Aragorn, I can't say. He's not like other Malfoys." 

"Isn't he? Seems like one to me. Obnoxious, full of himself, a bully, an idiot, a Slytherin." 

"Aragorn, you don't teach him! A pupil's essay shows more about their character than they could ever imagine. Nero's essays make me laugh." 

"Laugh?" said Aragorn sceptically. 

"Well, they make the corners of my mouth twitch. You shouldn't judge a person before you know them." 

"Isn't this slightly irrelevant, Athena? What are _you_ going to do?" 

"Me? I'm going to file a report at the Department of Mysteries, and then I'm going wait." 

"Wait?" grumbled Aragorn. "Wait? That's all we ever do nowadays!" 

"You don't want to be fighting, do you? You can't _like_ battling, can you? Count your blessings, Aragorn, that we have peace. Though how long that will last for, I don't know." 

"Why shouldn't it last? Voldemort cannot come back." 

"No, he can't, but- oh I don't know! It may be just a hunch, but I think something is going to happen. The balance of good and evil is changing everso slightly. Perhaps I am mistaken, but all has been too quiet for my taste. Come, Aragorn. Let us file my complait." 

There was a flash of the silver again and their bodies disappeared followed by their heads. Nero waited a reasonable amount of time before dashing out from behind the tree and stumbling up the hill to Salazar's Cross. 

The ground underneath him was muddy and slippery. He was wet through and freezing. He had pins and needles all over. As he trudged up the incline he reflected upon the conversation he had just overheard. Their comments on him he had found very interesting. He already hated Aragorn. The man did not even know him and yet insulted him with freedom! He wished he could place the vioce. It was so familiar! 

Professor Shortstraw's replies had slightly softened him. _You should never judge a person before you know them_ she had said, and how right she was. That was just what Aragorn was doing. Forming a judgement on him based on a supposed knowledge of his ancestors. Just because he was a Malfoy did not mean he acted in every respect like a Malfoy. It was prejudice! Sheer, blind prejudice! 

So they thought the box was made by Salazar Slytherin? What would they know about it? According to Draco it had been made by a Malfoy, but then again, what would Draco know about it? 

He stood at the top of the hill and gazed at the grave. The cross was about three feet tall and was so whethered that hardly any of the original designs were still visible. Bits of moss grew in the cracks. 

The wind was picking up, driving the rain onto him with even more force. His robes stuck to his skin and his blond hair was plastered to his head. His nose was starting to run and he couldn't feel his toes. He sank to his knees by the cross. 

Suddenly the Voice returned right beside him. 

"So you decided to come? Well, it's all for the best." 

Nero turned his head to look at where the Voice was, but again, there was no sign of anyone. He sighed and said, "Tell me what I must do so I can get back to bed. I shall catch pneumonia." 

"Patience, patience, my boy. All in good time. You must get the stone." 

"The stone? What stone?" 

"The stone that should have been in the box. You must find it. It is green and contains great power." 

Nero felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to creep. "The stone that I saw in my dream? Is that it?" 

The Voice sounded pleased when it replied, "You are quicker than I would have thought. Yes, it is that stone." 

Nero swallowed. "Do you know where it is?" 

"The girl has it. She found accidentally. You must get it off her." 

"The girl?" said Nero, bewildered. "What girl?" 

"There is only one girl, you know that." 

"What do you mean?" 

He was only answered by silence. 

"Hello?" he whispered, in rising panic. "Where have you gone? What do you mean, _there is only one girl_?" 

But he was all alone. The Voice had left him again. The rain came down heavier and heavier. The sky seemed to get darker. Suddenly a flash of lightening illuminated the forest, and the boy kneeling on the grave. An owl hooted in the forest and a bush rustled behind him. With one quick glance around him, Nero fled. 

~~*~~

The next morning Nero was especially uncommunicative with his friends. He knew who the Voice had refered to. It was right- there was only one girl. Little as it liked it he knew that in the great run of things, Joan was a nobody, as were Emilia, Lucy Crabbe, Lauretta Rosebin, Esmerelda Robinson and all of the other girls he knew. The only one girl who could ever be important was Cassandra Potter. Nero did not know why he thought this or why he was so sure of it; it was just something he knew. Cassandra Potter had the stone and he would have to get it off her. 

Stealing it would not work. He did not know where it was kept and he did not see how he could get into Gryffindor Tower, even if he did. There was only one thing for it; he was going to have to persuade Cassandra to give it to him. And to do that he would have to be nice to her. It would have to be done, and the sooner he started the better. 

On the way to breakfast he looked straight over at the Gryffindor table. She was not yet down. He went and waited by the stairs outside the Great Hall. After fifteen minutes of casual loitering she appeared flanked by a not bad looking Chinese girl and the faithful as ever male Weasley twin. 

Her bag was slung over her right shoulder and she was cleaning her glasses on her robes as she walked. 

"What lessons do we have this morning, Cassie?" asked the Weasley. 

"Double potions, History of Magic and French." 

"Ug. My least favourite day." 

"Jack, I don't see why you can't remember your timetable! It's just a few lessons- it's not that difficult." 

"Why should I bother when you know yours and mine off by heart?" he teased, slinging an arm casually round her shoulders. 

She shoved her glasses back onto her nose and frowned at him. She shrugged his arm off. "Don't do that, Jack." 

He looked slightly offended. Nero noticed the backs of his ears were red. Interesting... very interesting... 

He followed them into the Great Hall, a suitable distance behind them and observed them as they ate and chatted. From what he heard, he found their conversation and lives in general so mind numbingly dull that he was surprised they did not all drop down dead from boredom. They talked about about the answers to a potions' test they were getting back that morning, they discussed whether Jill should get chocolate or flowers for her boyfriend at Valantine's Day and then they moved onto the French homework. 

It was then that Cassandra found that she had left her French book in the common room. She stood up, "I'll have to go back and get it. See you in Potions." 

She slung her bag over her shoulders again and jogged out of the Great Hall. Nero's moment had come. He followed her out of the hall and fell into pace next to her. She did not even glance at him. 

"Hello, Potter," he said as they jogged up a staircase, trying to sound neutral or even _pleased_ to see her. It did not work, and he merely sounded like he was endeavouring to get a particularly stubbon horse to walk on. She ignored him. 

He tried again, "How are you?" 

At last she spoke, "Okay til you came along. How are you?" 

"Never better." 

The conversation seemed to run out of steam. Eventually Cassandra stopped, out of breath and asked, "Any particular reason why you're running along with me? Or are you just getting some well needed excercise?" 

"There is a reason, actually, and it is-" 

"Don't tell me, you want to insult me some more and I'm not having it." 

"_I_ want to insult _you_! That's rich, when you go out of your way to be nasty to me!" 

"Well, at least I've got good reason to be horrible!" 

Nero could see it was going to be uphill work. Cassandra hitched her bag more onto her right shoulder and started up again. The bell rang. Nero was going to late for Latin, though of course he did not care at all. 

They had come to the end of a corridor. In front of them was a large portrait of a fat woman in pink. 

"Password?" she said imperiously. 

Cassandra whipped out her wand, pointed it at Nero and said, "_Haud aures_!" 

After that he could not hear a thing. He cursed Potter. She said something to the portrait and it swung open. She turned round and muttered, "_Finite incantatem!_!" He could hear again. 

Cassandra swung the portrait shut with an annoying smile. He slumped outside and waited for her to re-admerge. 

After five minutes she came out, followed by someone who made his heart sink. Xanthia Weasley was taller than him, a year older, a prefect, the head of Gryffindor's daughter and was well known for having a biting tongue. 

She raised an eyebrow and loomed over him. "Any particalar reason why you're disgracing this corridor with your unwelcome presence?" 

"No," replied Nero. 

"Good. Perhaps I should inform you that you don't belong in this area of the school, that you are currently late for your first lesson and that I'm going to take five points off Slytherin." 

Nero glared at her. "_You're_ late for your lesson too, Weasley," he replied sulkily. 

She waved a hand, "Oh that doesn't matter! Professor Harker won't mind; he likes me. Besides, _I_ am a prefect. I think I shall write a note to your teacher. What lesson do you have?" 

"Latin," said Nero, and wished he did not. 

Xanthia's good mood seemed to increase. "Who's your teacher?" 

"Professor Shortstraw." 

"Jolly good! Cassie- do you have a piece of parchment?" 

She smirked, "Oh yes! I anticipated this from the beginning. Here you go." 

Xanthia scribbled something and handed it to Malfoy. "Here, take that and give it to Mama. Come on, Cassandra." 

He glanced down at it. Like her mother, Xanthia's handwriting left a lot to be desired. Still he could just about decipher it. 

_ 'This worm was caught hanging round Gryffindor Tower. Deserves detention (Filch's standards) at least. X.C.W. Prefect'_

~~*~~

For a week he stalked Cassandra Potter to no avail. He simply could not keep his temper around her. Finally the opportunity came on Wednesday. The weather had perked up and the student body took advantage of the surprising clemency to get some fresh air outside at the end of the school day. 

Cassandra was sitting, wrapped up in about two coats, on a stone seat in a secluded aread of the quadrangle. She was deep in a well thumbed copy of _Much Ado about Nothing_, her breath rising in steam whenever she laughed. He watched her for a few minutes before making the attack. 

He sat down next to her. He thought she would either ignore him or make some biting comment. Instead she snapped her book shut and said to him with a sigh, "What do you want? I'm fed up with you following me around like a- well I can't think what." Her eyes were dull and tired and her lips were chapped. 

"All right," he replied, pleased that she was giving in. "You have something of mine and I want it back." 

She looked surprised. "_I_ have something of your's? I doubt it." 

He wondered where the stinging repartees had gone. She seemed to sense what he was thinking because she said, "I'm just so tired of it all! It's the middle of winter, I have 'flu, as you can probably tell-" Here she sniffed, to back up her point, "and I have too much work. I don't need you following me around. As well as that, I'm only four foot seven. Life is very difficult for me at the moment, and you're not helping." 

Nero laughed before he could stop himself. "Well, you do seem miserable! How unfortunate! Now look here, just listen to me and I'm sure I've more problems than you have. The object I was referring to is a stone." 

She gave him a Look, "Please- I don't carry stones around with me. If you do, then I have nothing to add except that you're stupider than I thought. I am devastated that you've lost your pet rock, but cannot do anything about it." 

He gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean that type of stone. It's a gem- a diamond, but green." 

Her face was changing. "A green diamond? But-!" 

This was hopeful. "Yes, do you know what I'm talking about?" 

She pulled herself together and said, "I may do. Tell me why you want it first." 

"It's mine. I don't know how you got it, but I want it back." 

"Oh really? And how did you find out I had it? That's supposing I do have it," Cassandra added hastily. 

"Someone told me." That, at least was not a lie. He hoped it would satisfy her. 

Unfortunately for him, even though Cassandra was only four foot seven and had 'flu, it did not satisfy her. "So, let me get this straight. I admitt I do have the stone I think you're talking about. I found it in a rock pool over three years ago. Question one: how it did get into a rock pool in Cornwall, if it's yours and you are fond of it? Question two: why didn't the someone who told you I had it tell you so earlier? Question three: How does this someone know? When you're ready to tell the truth I might listen, until then, I advise you to keep away from me. Goodbye." 

With that she tucked her book under her arm and swept back to the school buildings. Nero shivered and realised unhappily, that the score stood so far at fifteen-love to Cassandra. 

The next day he tried again. He did not have to tell her the truth. He would make a nice story, full of his own heroism and plenty of bravery- all the things that Gryffindors liked. He spent a good few hours perfecting the tale and was thoroughly satisfied at the end. No girl would be able to resist it. 

He tracked her down in library doing Transfiguration homework. He set his books down at the other end of the table and pretended to be working. It would be a disaster for his reputation if he was caught hobnobbing with Cassandra Potter... Her's naturally did not matter. 

Eventually she finished writing a sentence, laid down her quill and fixed him with a determined stare. "Well?" she said. 

He leaned over the table and in melancholy, desparate tones narrated his story, without one mistake. Her expression did not change throughout the whole recital (which lasted a good ten minutes). When he had finished he fixed his eyes on her face. It was one of his best looks; full of meaning, subtext and pathos. He put a lot of effort into that look. He was very proud of it, and was sure that it would give him a well needed advantage point. 

"_Liar_," she said quietly. 

He was shocked. "What? You don't believe me?" 

"Certainly not. Did you expect me to?" 

"Yes. You're a Gryffindor." 

She laughed unpleasantly. "Oh? Just because we always tell the truth doesn't mean we always believe what people say." 

"Even if it's the truth?" he inquired quietly. 

"It is easy to know when a person is lying. I don't accept falsehoods." 

Nero felt crushed. When did she get so perceptive? The score, he realised with a sinking heart, was now thirty-love to Potter. He would have to think of a different tack. 

"Would you believe me if I told the truth?" he asked. 

"Yes, if it really was the truth." 

"Would you know if it were the truth?" 

"Yes. Are you going to tell me?" 

"I might." He dithered. He would have to think of some way of missing certain parts of the tale out of the story. He did not want her knowing everything. 

She spoke again. "I understand your hesitation. You see, _I_ have the stone you want." She grinned at him. 

Oh, so you're going to play it this way, are you? he thought. That made things so much easier. She had the upper hand, he acknowledged, but it was not Gryffindor tactics to use that knowledge to get their own ends, as bribery. That was Slytherin plotting and now Nero knew where he stood. After all, she was only _playing_ at being Slytherin; he _was_ a Slytherin. 

Nero got up. He packed his bag and stuck it his hands in his pockets. They stared at each other for a few moments then he said, "Tomorrow, at five o'clock in the Latin classroom." 

She raised her eyebrows, "Why there, in particular? Can't you tear yourself away from it?" 

"That seems to be more applicable to _you_, my dear Cassandra. Will you meet me there?" 

She fiddled with her pencil then she nodded, "Yes, I'll meet you there." 

As soon as his back was turned, a frown creased her forehead. She took off her glasses and polished them on her robes. Now why did I do that? she asked herself. 

~~*~~

Cassandra decided that she did want to know what Malfoy had to say to her. It intrigued her. Besides, she hoped that he might apologise for his behaviour to her at Christmas. She did not expect him to, but it would be nice to see him grovel at her feet. 

Accordingly, at five o'clock, they met in Professor Shortstraw's deserted classroom. Nero was already there. He was sitting on a desk, gazing at some grammar notes on the blackboard. She stood by the door, which she closed. "Well?" 

He turned round and sighed, "The stone belongs in a box. I got the box for my birthday, last month. I only found out that you had the it recently. I want the second part of my present. Will that satisfy you? Or don't you believe me?" 

She ignored the questions. "Pretty good birthday present, eh? I bet you were pleased to receive it, weren't you?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean that I would be everso pleased to get an empty box for my birthday. Such a satisfying present! Come on, Malfoy! Who gave it to you?" 

"My father," he replied. 

"So, your father? And was there anything special about it? Was it cursed?" she asked perceptively. 

He hesitated before replying, "Yes. It was cursed." 

"So what was the curse?" She was unconciously kicking the chair in front of the desk she was sitting on. 

"I would die if I didn't get the stone." 

She laughed drily. "How awfully convenient!" 

He was getting very angry. This was not quite how the conversation was supposed to be going. "I can't help it if it's convenient! It wasn't my fault that I received it for my bithday!" 

"And I suppose it wasn't your fault you opened it, either?" 

He stood up suddenly. "Ooh, you- I- how- what- I _hate_ you, Potter!" 

Her eyes clouded over with fury. "Well, I'm very glad the feeling's mutual, Malfoy," she spat. 

"You're such a- an annoying busybody, an unintelligent creep, a selfish, self-centred coward!" 

"And you're just a mean, arrogant bully who cannot think of a good retort so insults me instead! Well done for just giving up any chance you ever had of getting the stone!" 

He stopped his reply and took a deep breath. "Can't we sort this out nicely, Potter? Look, I don't like you and you don't like me! We both know that and we're not going to get anywhere by fighting. I should have that stone; it is my right. You're being unreasonable." 

"_I'm_ being unreasonable! Don't make me laugh! Give me one good reason why I should give it to you?" 

"It's a Malfoy heirloom, Potter. It is mine." 

"Really? That wasn't a very intelligent thing to say, was it? Your reason might be persuasive to a Slytherin, but hardly to me! You had better say, well-" 

He gesticulated violently, "All right! The stone has amazing powers which will redeem my tortured, lost soul and turn me into a good, thoughtful, sensitive type of guy. Then we can go away into the sunset and get married. I shall be the Malfoy who was reformed by a single generous gesture of Cassandra Potter! Does this satisfy your peculiar Gryffindor sensibilities?" 

She wrinkled her nose. "Ugh- how disgusting! Heaven forbid!" 

"I shall be the good one." 

A pained look crossed the face of his princess to be and she replied, "How loathsome. What a dreadful thought. I think I'd commit suicide." 

"I don't mind if you do! So much for your reformations, good Gryffindor girl!" 

She recollected herself and turned away her head (a little coyly, if truth be told). "Well, I shan't give you the stone, unless you ask nicely!" 

Nero shook his head, "I wish you'd give it up. You're even wetter than normal at the moment. What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" 

She stood up and said stiffly,"I have homework to be doing, and I'm sure you do too. Goodbye." 

"We'll meet again, tomorrow, same time." 

She sighed, "Very well." With one last look she swept from the classroom. 

~~*~~

The countdown to Vanlentine's day had begun. For the Gryffindor quidditch team, however, this was a not a pleasing reflection. They had to play the Hufflepuff team in the afternoon, and they felt sorely underprepared. The Hufflepuff team's order of seven Alpha 300s had arrived, and the Gryffindor team felt very low. To help matters, their seeker had a cold and was not feeling well. The team was getting fed up of Cassandra and if was not for Xanthia's efforts as Keeper and Tom's as Beater the captain, Pauline Knox would have had her off the team. 

Cassandra did not want to have to think about Nero's box while she had quidditch to worry about. That night, she drew the curtains round her four poster and took the stone out of its hiding place. She sat cross legged on the bed and pushed her glasses up her nose. She held the stone in her left hand and then passed it back and forward between her hands, watching the fluid, green glass flow smoothly as she moved it. The effect was hypnotic and strangely enough, allowed her to think clearly. 

It would not be such a bad idea if she gave the stone to Malfoy, she thought, as she stared unblinkingly into the depts of the stone. It was his after all and he really wanted it... What use was it to her? She had found it, perhaps it was his after all... 

She sneezed heavily and put the stone down on the duvet as she groped about under her pillow for a handkercheif. She blew her nose and stared down at the gem. No. She would never give it to him. How did she know that he was telling the truth? Cassandra did not know how, but she felt somewhere deep down, _very_ deep down, that he had not lied. This consideration gave her no comfort. 

Life, it seemed to Cassandra, was a far more complicated thing than she had ever realised. There were so many strands to it that had to be dealt with, and she found that procrastination did not help. Things had to be addressed at one time or another. For her, life had been solidly black and white. Things had been as clear as the fact that she was a Potter and Nero was a Malfoy. Now, they seemed to merging into a very interesting grey colour. Cassandra detested grey. 

If she did not give Nero the stone what would happen? Would she be plagued with a horrible conscience till the end of her days? Or would she merely be plagued by Nero asking her for it for ever and ever? 

What actually _was_ the stone? Cassandra did not know. If Nero knew, then he had not told her. Cassandra sighed and went to get her trunk. In it was an extremely large volume called _The Pasa Institute Encyclopedeia of Absolutely Everything_ by G. T. Omnis. It was about a foot thick and since Cassandra could not lift it she had to read from it on the floor. After spending quite a long time looking under 'stones', 'gems' and 'emeralds', she found the following entry. 

_ Salazar Slytherin is credited with the making of the greatest magical jewels. He constructed many precious stones all with varying degrees of magical powers. However, only one still remains. This was a gift to his Aunt Elena. It took the shape of a small, purple gem in a golden ring. It's current location is unknown. _

When Godric Gryffindor killed Sytherin two years after the fateful battle of Hogwarts, he and Helga Hufflepuff made sure that all of Slytherin's gems were destroyed. Scholars have puzzled greatly over whether the largest stone, an emerald, was Slytherin's Object of Power. Since so little is actually known about these great objects, it is impossible to tell. 

Cassandra frowned and then she looked up 'Objects of Power'. 

_ The only references to these ancient objects are contained in the anals written by Marianna Gryffindor (daughter of Godric Gryffindor and Rowena Ravenclaw). However, due to the fact that these were written in an odd mixture of colloquial Latin, Anglo-Saxon, a strange type of Scottish Celtic and hints of Old French, scholars have found it difficult to translate them. _

Marianna writes that she believes that the Battle of Hogwarts could have been avoided by using them, that Salazar did not use his and that was how it all happened and that there were four of them. However, it is not known what 'they' are. It has been surmised that possibly the ruby encrusted sword found by Lady Margaret Grey (Headmistress of Hogwarts) in 1832 was Godric Gryffindor's Object of Power. Nothing is known of the other ones, or even if they were actually made. Their existence is a myth. 

Cassandra closed the book with a thump that shook the dust from it into her face. She coughed, sneezed and blew her nose violently. She decided that the stone she had found was in fact Slytherin's Object of Power, whatever that was. She had found a lost artefact! She would be famous! The fact that she had found _Slytherin's_ one rather dampened her enthusiasm. 

Cassandra wished she could find out more about these Objects of Power. However, if _The Encyclopedeia of Absolutely Everything_ did not know, then no amount of research would bring anything to light. She put the business out of her head and concentrated on the immediate issue of whether she should give Malfoy the gem. 

According to the book, if Slytherin had used the gem then something would not have happened. Cassandra knew nothing about this. She did not understand and she did not know how she could find out. 

The possibility of giving the stone to Professor McGongall had occured to her, yet she did not like the idea. If it was a dangerous sort of stone then she might get into trouble for having it. It had always been her secret, and she had no interest in letting an adult see it. Besides, she could manage her own life without someone else interfering, couldn't she? Yet, in her heart of hearts, Cassandra knew that she was completely clueless; that she was suddenly acting in a world which she did not know about. Still, she pushed this disagreeable reflection to the furthest part of her brain. Whatever she might be feeling on the inside, she simply _had_ to look in control on the outside. 

She eventually came to the conclusion that she would not go and see Nero the next day; she had had enough of his being in charge. She would wait and she would see and then she would act. 

~~*~~

_**The Book**_

Monday Februrary 13th 2023 (or the worst day of my life), 21:24:54, Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, Hogwarts

I ignored Malfoy for two days solid. I certainly did not go and meet him as he had suggested and when he brushed past me in corridor yesterday as I went to the Dining Room, I stuck my nose in the air and looked in the opposite direction. 

However, this morning at breakfast a large eagle owl flew down to my table and perched itself on my glass of pumpkin juice. The message attached told me to meet him on the quidditch pitch at seven o'clock after the Slytherin practice. 

After spending a couple of minutes dueling with my conscience, I thought it would not make much difference if I did go. He had not made me do anything yet. How wrong I was! 

At five to seven I put on my red and gold scarf and coat and descended to the quidditch pitch. It was already almost dark and the floodlights were on. The night was crisp and cold. There was a slight breeze. I stuck my hands into my coat pockets to warm them up and when I exhaled, my breath came out cloudy. Looking west over the lake, I could see the last feeble rays of the sun illuminating some clouds in a pinkish glow. I shivered slightly. 

The Slytherin quidditch practice finished bang on seven. I waited in the shadows by the stands as the team filed out. Nero was at the end. His cheeks were pink from the exertion and his hair messed up. He was talking to a tall boy with sticking out teeth and bushy eyebrows. 

"Aren't you going in, Nero?" asked Bushy-Eyebrows. 

"No, not just yet," replied Nero in a smooth, breathless type of voice. I pressed my face to the wooden support column I was hiding behind, so as to see him better. 

"I think I'll do a bit more practice. And don't worry about the balls. I'll put them away when I've finished." 

Bushy-Eyebrows shook Malfoy's hand and nodded. "Excellent. Have a good practice." He was moving off when he stopped and turned round again, "You fly well, you know, Nero. You're the best seeker Slytherin's had for years. You fly as well as your father." 

"Is that a compliment, Basil?" inquired Nero cooly. "My father lost all his games to Harry Potter, if I remember rightly." 

Basil looked put out. "Well, Harry Potter _was_ an exceptional flyer. You can't blame your father... Nevertheless, you've only got his daughter to contend with. She'll be a walkover." 

"She's beaten me before," said Malfoy quietly. 

Basil laughed, "Well, never again! With a broom like yours, how could you loose!" 

"Good _night_, Basil!" 

"'Night, Nero!" Then Basil slung his broomstick over his shoulder and walked off towards the castle, whistling. 

I released my grip on the post and stepped out into the pitch. He was putting the quaffle back into the box. His broomstick was leaning against the side of the pitch. "Well," I said, "I came. What do you want?" 

He quickly turned round. Then he advanced quietly towards me. I took a step back and said in what I hoped would appear a dangerous voice, "What do you _want_? I don't have all day." 

He paused, about a foot away from me. The he pushed his luminous hair out of his face. He sighed, "Cassandra, the Voice came back to me, last night." 

"What voice?" I inquired sharply. 

He hesitated, opened his mouth and then closed it again. His fists, I noticed, were balled up by his sides. 

I put my hands on my hips and shook my head. The idiot! I prepared to give him a lecture. "Oh, Malfoy! The problem with lying is that you have to remember exactly what you have and haven't said-" 

"I didn't lie to you, Potter, I just didn't tell you everything!" 

"That's obvious," I replied drily. "Now tell me what this voice is." 

"The Voice, Potter, is a nameless thing that spoke to me the night I opened the box. It told me to get the stone, that you had it and that I would die if I did not get it." 

My eyes narrowed. I did not like the sound of this at all. Was not Arthur Weasley's number one maxim- _Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps its brain_? 

"Well, go on. What did it say to you last night?" 

His voice shook slightly. _Hypocrit_, I thought. "It told me that I would die if you did not give me the stone by Valentine's Day. It wasn't a very nice sounding voice at all," he added after a pause. 

My thoughts crystallized. "Oh what a fool I am!" I cried angrily, stamping my foot. 

"My thoughts exactly," he muttered. However, the situation was too serious to waste time squabbling. 

"I've got it! I understand it all! It was all so simple, if only I'd thought of it! Listen, Malfoy- do you know exactly what this stone is?" 

"No," he replied, not looking half as excited as I was, "but I would give the world to know." 

"That would be very nice, I suppose, if the world was your's to give." 

"Potter-" 

"All _right!_ I know what it is." 

"You? _You_ know? How?" 

I tossed my head. "Oh, I looked it up in a book." 

Nero looked as if he was struggling to keep calm. "Very well. Tell me what it is." 

"The stone was made by Salazar Slytherin. It was one of the four Objects of Power. It is supposed to have been destroyed." 

Malfoy had gone pale. "So it was Slytherin... What are these Objects of Power, anyway?" 

"I'm not sure; something to do with the founders of Hogwarts. Anyway, this is my theory of what happened." 

"Go on." 

"Salazar Slytherin left an heir, who was Lord Voldemort." I was not surprised that he did not flinch when I mentioned His name. His family is involved in all sorts of dark arts, after all. "Lord Voldemort found the box, but the stone was still missing. He therefore put a part of his spirit into the box, that's who the voice is. Because he was Slytherin's heir he could tell that the contents of the box was a stone. He then put the curse on the box and it fell into the hands of your family. However, if you get the stone, then it will somehow bring Lord Voldemort back to power, by giving him something of Slytherin's." 

Nero laughed softly. I felt offended. "You know what I think of that, Potter? I think it's a really immaginative story. It would make an excellent adventure book. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem very plausible. There seem to be quite a few flaws in your plot. Seriously though, you've made far too many asumptions." 

I shook my head violently. "Oh no! I'm sure I'm right. It's perfectly possible. After all, Voldemort did it before. He left his diary, which brought back his sixteen year old spirit when Aunt Ginny Farrel wrote in it. He left it in your Grandfather's possession. It's exactly the same thing- of course it's plausible." 

Nero made no answer for quite a long time, then he heaved a great sigh. "All right, supposing you're right- which you probably aren't- what are going to do now?" 

"Go straight to Professor McGonagall, like I should have done weeks ago!" I replied firmly and turned round preparing to walk off. 

"And what will she do?" 

"Hopefully take the whole thing out of our hands and deal with it herself." I started walking away. 

"No wait, Cassandra!" He grabbed my hand and forced me to turn round. He stared at me earnestly. "Haven't you forgotten something?" 

"Let go of my hand," I said icily. 

He glanced down and dropped my hand, as if it were on fire. "I mean that I die in two days if I don't get the stone!" 

"Oh!" I cried and turned away. 

"My death will be on your hands." 

I could not speak. It was the right thing to do, I was sure, to hand over the stone to Professor McGonagall, yet how could I do so knowing that Nero would die if he did not get it? Unless... unless the voice of Voldemort had lied. Why not, after all? 

I turned away again and started to walk. My mind was made up. Professor McGonagall would know what to do; Professor McGonagall would not let Malfoy die. She would have the answer. 

Malfoy grabbed his broomstick and raced after me from the quiddich pitch. "No- Cassandra! You can't do this! My life is in your hands! Reconsider! Stop! Stop!" 

I started running. Nero was catching up with me. I glanced over my shoulder at him and stopped still. Not because of what he had said, or because my conscience was playing up in any way, but because of what he held in his hand. 

Nero Malfoy was holding a sleek, glittery, ebony broomstick. My jaw dropped. "Is that," I asked in a hushed tone, "what I think it is?" 

He grinned and twirled it round, "Oh? You mean my Alpha 300? Nice, isn't it?" 

"Can I- can I have a look?" 

He held it out so I could clearly see the twirly, silver letters on the hilt that said, _Nimbus Alpha 300_. "Wow," I breathed. 

The entire Hufflepuff team would be playing on these tomorrow. I did not have a chance of winning on my Tornado 4. This broomstick, however, radiated power. I looked back up at Malfoy. There was a strangely set look on his face. 

"What do you say, Potter, to a quick game of quidditch before it gets completely dark?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"A seeker's game. Just you and me? What do you say?" 

What a ridiculous idea! "You mean, we sit on our broomsticks in the dark and wait for the snitch to appear? How stupid!" 

"Well, we'd bewitch the snitch not to go too far away. That would speed up the game. It would be good practice for you after all, since you have to play against a whole team of these tomorrow." 

"Since when did you become so interested in my wellfare?" 

He shrugged, "So are you game?" 

I paused and looked round the grounds. There was still three quarters of an hour before curfew. A few people were still out, having a walk by the lake. No one would see us. "All right then," I said. After all, Nero was right- it would be good practice. "Let me see. Whoever catches the snitch wins, right?" 

"Clever girl. You worked it out at last," he replied sarcastically. 

He turned round towards the quidditch pitch. I gazed at his broomstick longingly. He stopped and faced me. 

"Let's make the game a little more exciting, shall we?" 

"How do you mean?" 

"Let's give ourselves, shall I say, an incentive to win?" 

"Is this... is this the sort of thing Slytherins do in their spare time?" I felt rather worried. I had heard of many stories that started this way, and ended _rather unpleasantly_. 

"Oh, I shan't rape you or anything like that." he chuckled drily. "No, my idea is far simpler, and really, whichever way you look at it, you win." 

"Well?" 

"If you win, Potter-" 

"Yes?" 

"I give you this broomstick!" He waved the Alpha 300 enticingly under my nose. I drew my breath in sharply. "You're... you're serious?" This was brilliant! If only I could trust him. 

"And if I win..." He paused, "You give me the stone!" 

My head snapped up. "No! Never!" His mouth was curved into a sardonic smile. He waved the broom in front of me again. I swallowed. Hard. 

"You're a good quidditch player, Cassandra. You could easily beat me." 

I stared first at the broomstick and then at him. At last I said quietly, "You've made me an offer you know I can't refuse." 

"My dear, if I'd thought you'd refuse it, I wouldn't have made it in the first place," was his only reply. 

"Are you going to keep your word? I won't back out of my half of the deal if you don't back out of yours." 

"Of course I'll keep my word, once we've done contractual magic to seal the promise." 

"Contractual magic?" I stuttered. "But isn't that terribly dark magic?" 

He grinned, his teeth suddenly appearing very sharp and white. "It's only dangerous if you don't keep your word. Don't worry, it's an easy enough spell to say. Just copy me carefully. And look me in the eye went we join hands." 

He pulled his wand out of his pocket; in a dream I did the same. He pointed his wand at his left hand and said clearly, "_Fidem nunquam fallam. Incipat incantatem!_" 

His hand began to glow luminous green from light coming from his wand. I took off my gloves and pointed my wand at my left hand and repeated the words, "_Fidem nunquam fallam. Incipat incantatem!_" My hand, on the contrary glowed scarlet. 

I looked up at him and our eyes met. They were very grey, I noticed. He clasped my right hand in his right and our hands began to glow bright silver. 

His hand was cold in mine. His eyes bored into mine. I began to tremble as I waited for the spell to finish. There was no going back. _Oh what had I done!_

  
~~~

**Next chapter**: _The quidditch game and what happened after... *he he! Evil mutterings* Also, the only proposal of marriage in the story and the identity of Domina Eowyn is finally cracked. Probably the most ammount of PLOT so far! _

Do please review! I shall post Chapter 8 as soon as I have written it! 

~Silvestria~ 


	9. VIII

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 8 _Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more,Men were deceivers ever;One foot on sea and one on shore,To one thing constant never.Therefore sigh not so,But let them go,And be you blithe and bonny;Converting all you sounds of woe,Into Hey nonny nonny!_

- From 'Much Ado About Nothing' by William Shakespeare 

_**The Book**_

Monday February 13th 2023 (or the worst day of my life), 11:24:54, Gryffindor Girls' Dormitory, Hogwarts (continued)

As soon as he released my hand I knew I had made a big mistake. I had been senseless. I had decided to exchange this dangerous magical artefact for a _broomstick_! Was I a completely moraless fool? Still, it takes things like contractual magic to make you realise how stupidly you've been behaving. 

"Can't I go back on my word?" I asked hopefully. 

He grinned. "No chance! It's too dangerous." 

"I thought you said contractual magic was only dangerous if you break your promise? Going back on your word is quite different!" 

He leaned close to me and whispered, "A particularly unintelligent friend of my father's once did that and he disappeared from under our very noses with a puff of smoke. We've never seen him again, but we've heard rumours of him running riot in New Zealand, with complete amnesia. I wouldn't try it, if I were you." 

"Oh come on! There must be a counter spell." 

"You being a coward, Potter?" he sneered. 

"No, of course not!" I replied, aggrieved. "Let's play." 

I ran towards the quidditch pitch. I then summoned my broomstick from the dormitory. Nero held the snitch as we floated up into the air. The evening was cold and twenty feet above the ground there was a stiff wind blowing. My teeth began chattering uncontrollably. I clenched my gloved hands to the broomstick and tried to stop my body from tensely shaking. 

"Hey, Potter!" cried Malfoy, as a blurry streak flashed past me and came to a smooth halt a couple of feet away from me. "You've gone rather blue," he said, waving the hand holding the snitch, in a mock salute. "Or perhaps that's just your normal complexion." He smirked. 

"A couple of years of ago," I shouted back, "that would have really offended me! Now, thankfully, I've realised just how pathetic it is." 

"No you haven't. You just don't have anything clever to say in return so you pretend I don't either." 

"Oh for goodness sake do stop it! Curfew starts soon and I have need of an early night. It's Valentine's Day tomorrow." 

"I know," he replied gloomily. 

"Do you expect to receive many cards?" 

"Thousands," spoken in the same tone. 

"Will you send any?" 

"Potter, I have a _girlfriend_!" 

"Well, don't sound too happy about it!" I was amused. Surely he should be pleased about it. "If you don't like her, why don't you break up with her?" 

He looked at me pityingly. "Potter, I really don't need relationship advice from you." 

I was tiring of the conversation. "Come on then, let the snitch go. I gave my word and _I_ shan't go back on it. I have great misgivings, Malfoy, but I'm also a good quidditch player." 

"Sure you are, but this is one good broom here! I doubt you'll beat the speed of the Alpha 300. All right then. Here goes." He opened his hand and the snitch took off, glimmering golden in the dusk. It soared round Malfoy's head and then round mine before fluttering off into the dark. 

Malfoy bent over his broom and gave me a grin. There was a blur and a sound of wind, and he seemed to disappear. I turned quickly round and at the opposite end of the pitch there he was, sitting astride the Alpha 300, as if he had always been there. 

My heart sank right down into my patent leather shoes. Nero had not exaggerated the power and speed of his broomstick. How would I ever keep up? 

I flew off to join him. The wind was chilly, but the exhilaration of flying was clearing my head slightly. I felt more concentrated, relaxed and above all, cold. 

"It's a good broom, isn't it?" he said superciliously as I joined him. 

"Yes," I admitted. "It is." 

We stared at each other for a bit, then I had an idea. If I always followed Nero around then I would never keep up with him, but if he had to chase after me then that gave me the power. 

Faking a look of surprise, I suddenly made a dive towards the ground. It was the first time I had tried a Wronski Feint, but I was convinced it would work. The ground rushed towards me, faster than I had expected. 

At the last minute I pulled the broom up and sped away in the opposite direction. Nero cried out to me as he came up towards me. "Hey, Potter! Was that the first Wronski Feint you've done? I suppose you would know it since you must suck up to your quidditch player father." 

"Two things, Malfoy. Firstly, my father is not a quidditch player. He _makes_ broomsticks. Secondly- I most certainly don't _suck up_ to him. Only you would come up with something so horrible, I suppose. Then again, I daresay you suck up to you father loads. I've seen the amount of fudge you get through the post." 

"Well, the Malfoy Manor dairies are rather good, now you mention it. Still, I most certainly don't suck up to my father. In fact he sucks up to me." 

I was too interested by this to remember that I was speaking to Nero Malfoy. "_He_ sucks up to _you_?" 

"Sure. He wants to make sure that I became the personification of the Malfoy ideal. My father only likes me because I'm a male Malfoy. Because I have blond hair and icy grey eyes. Because I'm sarcastic and evil. Because I will inherit Malfoy Manor one day and breed a load of silver haired Malfoy brats with a suitable Slytherin wife, like Joan Witherspoon or Lucy Crabbe. Because his father did it to him before. Because if he doesn't then I might start thinking that his ideals and theories are all a load of dragon dung." He stared blankly at me then said excitedly, "Isn't that the snitch?" 

I whirled round; there was nothing there. "No," I said pointedly, "it isn't." 

We faced each other. At last I said, "And... and do you think they are a load of dragon dung?" 

The shutter came down over his face. "Like I'd tell _you_ if I did! Now stop trying to reform me- I don't like it. I think Gryffindors are the dullest people on earth, so being reformed would not be much fun." 

"Am I dull?" 

"You, my dear Queen of Gryffindor, are the dullest, most immature of them all!" 

I shrugged. "Well, it was worth asking." 

He surveyed me with one eyebrow raised. "D'you wish I found you interesting?" 

"No, of course not!" 

"Then why did you ask?" 

"There's no harm in asking, is there?" 

"A question without motive, is a question wasted." 

"Will you go to hell, Nero Malfoy, or shall I send you there? After all, you're so nearly there you'd only need a small push." 

He laughed; a genuine laugh. "I would prefer Australia." 

I saw what he was doing. "What? Isn't this world good enough for you?" 

"No, not if you're in it." 

"It's getting dark." 

"I'd call that changing the subject, Potter. Have you seen the Snitch yet, because I'm bored." 

"If you're bored, then why don't we go inside? I'm c-c-cold!" 

"Don't worry, I'm not _that_ bored." 

We sat staring around the pitch for a few more minutes, then the snitch really did appear. I saw it first and shot after it. After chasing it for a few minutes it disappeared. I was slightly out of breath. 

Nero balanced himself more securely on his broomstick, pushed his hair out of his face and said, "The next time, one of us will catch it." 

"How do you know?" 

"Because it's the truth," he replied. 

"Yes, I know." As I stared into the dusk, it seemed to be saying something to me. There was a message in the sky. I turned my attention to Nero and watched as he shifted his grip on his broom handle. His hands were sweaty and slipped. He shone into clear relief and I read indecision in his face. Meaning was shining out at me from every part of nature, both human and natural. 

I shivered. "Something life changing will happen tonight." 

"Yes, I know," he echoed. His voice was resigned, without a hint of sarcasm. However, there seemed to be a wide awake pent up type of energy in it that I could not quite understand. He looked like a rubber band stretched to its furthest point and about to break. 

The snitch appeared between us. We stared at it for a second before each diving at it. I couldn't quite tell what was going on for a bit; my glasses had steamed up. In the end I found myself holding Malfoy's green and silver scarf (what was I doing removing that?!) and he was holding the snitch. 

Oddly enough, he did not look remotely triumphant. He raised one eyebrow then floated down to the ground without saying a word. I followed quietly. 

Once we were on the ground the silence continued. Malfoy put the snitch away in the quidditch box and retrieved his scarf from my hand. He wrapped it round his neck and leaned against the nearest stand, arms folded. He waited for me to say something. 

I looked everywhere but at him. I watched the silhouettes of the trees in the Forbidden Forest wave in the breeze. I stared at the warm, golden windows of light at Hogwarts until I saw bright spots before my eyes. 

Finally Nero remarked, "I'm surprised you haven't made stormy remarks on the lines of _'It's not fair!'_ yet." 

I snapped back to the scene in front of me and replied, "But it was fair. You won and I lost. Now I must give you the stone." 

"Yes, you must." 

I became angry. "Well, I should have thought you'd be more happy about it! Don't just stand there!" 

"I am too relieved to speak much, Cassandra. You have saved my life." 

"Rot!" I felt myself blush. "I did nothing of the sort. You forced me to. What I mean is..." My tongue seemed to have lost the power of clear articulation. 

He placed his hands on his hips and stared off into the gloom, a frown on his face. 

"What is it?" I inquired. 

"Nothing," he mused, "never mind. What are you waiting for? Where is my stone?" 

I slowly pulled my wand from out of my pocket and pointed it at the school. I glanced at Malfoy for confirmation. He nodded briefly. I said, and my voice trembled a little, "_Accio stone!_" 

There was a pause and we both waited. Eventually there was a silver glow in the air and soon the stone was in my hand. I wrapped my fingers possessively round it. 

Nero moved a few steps closer. His breath was visible in the night sky. It was now completely dark. A few stars were visible between the clouds. The breeze ruffled his hair slightly. He came closer still and said so quietly that I could hardly hear him, "Show me, Cassandra." 

I glanced up at him, "Must I?" 

"Yes." 

Slowly I uncurled my fist and held the stone in the middle of my palm. I had never seen it before in the dark. The green tints in it were more obvious than ever; it seemed to glow an eerie emerald green. 

Nero's breathing got thicker and he said hoarsely, "Give it to me." 

The green of the stone, the green of my eyes, the green of his quidditch robes; the silver of his hair, the silver of the snake on his crest. It was all the same. Everything mirrored Slytherin's stone. The stone that would bring Lord Voldemort back to power. My hand involuntarily closed round it. "No, it is mine. You shall not have it. You _can't_ have it!" I leapt back in panic. 

Nero's eyes lifted from my hand and met mine. "Give it to me!" 

"No!" I cried, stumbling away. I could not give it to him. I ran a few paces, before he grabbed my arm and forced me to stop. "No!" -almost painfully- "I can't give it up!" 

"Give it to me." His voice seemed deeper and I trembled as I looked up into his hypnotic, grey eyes. 

Slowly I unwrapped my fingers from round it and quietly uttered, "There. Take it." It was probably the most serious thing I had ever said. 

He reached out his right hand and I took the opportunity to notice how very well kept and clean his short nails were. His middle finger touched the stone first, then he picked it up. 

We stepped away from each other, and he held the stone up in the air to observe it better. It illuminated his face in its ethereal emerald green glow. He looked at it with a mixture of awe and relief. "Wow..." he muttered then a look of slight fear appeared on his face, "Wha-?" 

He seemed to be unable to lower his arm and his gaze seemed fixed on a point a few feet behind the stone. His lips parted, but no sound came out. The look of slight fear was replaced by one of absolute terror. 

"What on earth? Nero- are you-" I darted out towards him and stopped a few paces away, unsure what to do. 

He started to lean back, as if trying to get as far away from the stone as possible. He stumbled, yet still continued to lean backwards. The illumination from the stone was so strong that he seemed to be glowing himself. I wondered why the students still out did not notice us. After all, we were now on the outside of the quidditch pitch. Ten minutes to go until curfew. 

At last he fell over backwards, he had been leaning so far. He lay still on the ground and the stone had tumbled onto the grass. It had stopped glowing. I dashed to his side and reached out to pick up the stone. Quick as a sly cat he rolled over and had it in his hand. "Oh, no you don't! It's _Mine_ from now on! Mine, do you here?" There was a feverish light in his eyes that I had never seen before. 

I withdrew my hand. "Are you alright? You looked so frightened. What happened? Tell me!" 

He caught my hand and gripped it so tightly I thought he'd break a bone. He was shaking. "Cassandra, help me...I don't think..." he began. 

"You must tell me," I whispered urgently. "It must have been something really terrible. I _have_ to know. We should do something about it- tell Professor McGonagall-" 

He sat up so suddenly that I was thrown onto the grass next to him. "No! Never!" He stood up abruptly and I ungracefully clambered up opposite him. 

"I must, Nero. I must go to her. Don't you see? Can't you see what's happened? This is all beyond our control. It has gone far enough. I cannot bear this alone. You have been manipulating me since the beginning of term-" 

"I would do anything to get what I wanted. You should have seen that-" 

"It must be _illegal_ to do things like that!" 

"I didn't-" 

My hands balled into fists. "Liar!" I cried. "You manipulated me! You did! You did!" 

He made me drop my arms which had been raised in my excitement. Softly he said, "You must have been a simpleton, Potter." 

"Huh?" I said, mystified at this change of subject. 

"It's my turn now. Don't you see? Can't you see what a mess you've got yourself into? Or perhaps I should say- can't you _hear_?" 

I could hear voices. Female voices. I turned round and saw two shadows advancing this way. A giggle. A laugh. 

I turned frantically back to him. "I can't be seen here talking to you! What can I do? Have they seen us?" 

"Undoubtedly," he replied calmly. "They're coming to see what all the shouting was about. You can't run away now." 

I wrung my hands in despair. I was near tears. "But you're a Slytherin and I'm a Gryffindor! It would be ruin- sure ruin! How could I be seen talking to you and live to tell the tale?" 

His mouth turned up at the corners in the most sinister smile I have ever seen. "True, it _is_ forbidden to be seen _talking_ to a Slytherin. I pity you, Cassandra, I really do, for what I am about to do." 

"What are you-" I replied, feeling small and helpless. 

He took hold of each of my arms, "I must ask you not to move, complain, turn around or anything like that. I know what I'm doing." I stepped back and hit the trunk of a tree, he stepped forwards. The pressure on my arms grew more intense. I squirmed to look over his shoulder and saw that the two girls were close enough to see us properly, dark though it was. "_Don't_ do that, Cassandra!" breathed Nero angrily into my ear. 

"What-" I cried, looking up at him. I tried to back away, but he held me against the tree. I was feeling _really_ scared now. I realised what he was about to do a split second before he did it. Before he kissed me. 

His arms closed round me like steel clamps and I had not the strength to resist and move from his embrace. I tried to pull away, but whichever way I jerked my head, his followed me. He broke his kiss long enough to whisper fiercely, "Keep still, you idiot! They've seen us- it's all right." 

"All right! You think it's all right? I'm not-" He kissed me again to make me shut up. 

The girls were in earshot. One was saying, "-late to be out on a night like this. It's nearly eight o'clock. Let's see who they are. Come one. Oh look! He's a Slytherin!" 

"And she's a Gryffindor- look at her scarf, Angela! Ooo!" said the second female. 

Nero's arms abruptly stiffened round me as he heard the second girl speak. I wriggled. He broke the kiss (which I feel I ought to mention was entirely on his side- I just stood there.) He forced my head to rest on his chest, so that the girls could not see me. He whispered in my ear, "Do nothing. Leave it to me." He did not give me any choice. 

"I say," exclaimed Angela, "he looks awfully like-" 

"Nero!" came a high pitched scream from the other. "Nero Malfoy! What a cheating, lying-" 

"Hello, Joan," said Nero calmly. I could feel his heartbeat had speeded up a few notches. A vague suspicion entered my head. Could Joan be... his girlfriend? 

My suspicions seemed to be confirmed when I heard her cry out in that dreadful screech, "How dare you carry on like this behind my back? I loved you and I thought you did too. You liar!" 

"I always lie," he replied ruthlessly. "What makes you so different?" 

"I'm your girlfriend!" 

"I think we need a change of tense there, don't you? How about 'was'?" 

There was a sound of violent sobbing. "Why did you do it? Oh, you have made me so miserable! Here, I shall return to you your- well, you never gave me anything so I can't return it but if you had then I would throw it in your face!" 

"Good, I wish you'd been able to. I was planning to break up with you tomorrow morning, but I knew you would never be able to let go without proof. Thank-you for making my job much easier." 

"You mean you _planned_ me to see this?" 

"Yes," he replied. He started running his fingers through my hair. 

"I don't understand what you can get from _her_," insisted Joan, "that you can't from me?" 

"There are other things you can get for kissing Gryffindors than just fulfilment," Nero replied cruelly. A single tear dropped from my nose and I licked it away. I wanted to go home. 

"Oh, I see. You're using her and will get a tidy sum for it. I thought there was more to you than just a mercenary. But now I know better!" 

"But who is she?" inquired Angela curiously. 

"Shut up- don't interfere in my business! Who is she, Nero?" 

"A Gryffindor from another year. Does it matter? She's a Gryffindor and I'll be well paid." 

"You're nothing but common prostitutes, both of you! Someone needs to teach you manners and soon, before it's too late! Come on, Angela, let's go." And still sobbing, she and her friend ran off towards the school. 

As soon as they were far away, Nero released me. I jumped as far away as possible and wiped my hand across my mouth. I was shaking badly and felt hot and cold in succession. Tears fell more rapidly now. 

"Thank-you! Thank-you for ruining my life!" I cried and sniffed loudly. "I hope you realise what you've done- I hope you realise how much of my life you have stolen from me!" I paused to hiccup and wipe my nose. 

"Have I nothing better to do with myself than listen to hysterical girls?" he asked nobody in particular, coolly. 

"They wouldn't be hysterical in the first place if it wasn't for you!" I replied shrilly. "I regret everything, everything! And... and if I could relive tonight, I'd do it all differently. I didn't know you before, but I do now! And I now know just what a- a horrible _beast_ you are!" I drew a shuddering breath and continued, "I don't know what you hoped to get out of it. All I do know is that, tonight, you have shown no respect whatsoever for human feelings and you have ignored the strictest rules of common decency. Do you think I ought to be obliged to you? Well, I'm not grateful at all and don't think I ever will be! You could not have behaved in a worse way towards me. Did you do it because you hate me? 

"Well? Did you?" I insisted, since he made no sign of replying. "Don't be such a coward, and speak up! Not that anything you say could ever make me believe you now! I never ever sought you, or wanted you in any way. And, the funny thing is, I still don't! So, now what do you have to say?" 

He turned towards me and remarked coldly, "Nothing. You have said all that is possible to say." He picked up his broom and started walking towards the castle. Still walking he called into the freezing air, "And thank you for your hatred. And my life." He stopped and looked back at me. "An odd combination, aren't they?" He strode on. 

The dark enclosed itself round me. An owl screeched in the forest. Letting out a loud howl, I fled past Nero and towards the castle and my bed. 

_Cassandra E. Potter_

~~*~~

Dea Prejudice was leaning out of a window at the central Headquarters of the Department of Mysteries, smoking a cigarette. The corridor was stuffy and she had opened a window to get a little fresh air. She gazed down into the courtyard and thanked her stars that the Department of Mysteries was seasonless. It was always a pleasant English summer; warm and sunny with a gentle breeze. 

In fact, the Dep (as it was called) was quite the reverse to what the Headquarters of the Wizarding MI6 might naturally be expected to be like. It was all contained in a large, rambling house of about five stories high. Orange paint peeled on the outside and white paint on the inside. It was built round a square courtyard which contained a miniature garden of Eden. Beautiful shrubs and flowers and trees grew there all year round. In the centre was a bench for DOM members to rest themselves occasionally. Many windows surrounded by flapping green shutters overlooked this courtyard. Every sound was magnified in it so if someone dropped a pebble from a window on the fifth floor into the pond below, everybody would hear it. 

Dea Prejudice surveyed the familiar scene in front of her. For a completely magical creation, the Dep was pretty good, she reflected. The Boss was definitely a powerful witch. 

Footsteps sounded on the marble corridor and, quick as a flash, Prejudice stubbed out her cigarette and threw the stub out of the window. There were strict no smoking rules. To explain why she had been leaning out of the window she reached out and plucked a shiny, red apple off an apple tree. She pulled her hood over her head and turned round to greet the newcomer. 

She relaxed a little when she realised that she was a Domina. A Domina would not dare to report someone of her high standing for breaking a silly, little rule. The woman stopped and greeted Dea Prejudice. "Hello! Nice day, isn't it?" 

"Isn't it always, here?" she replied. 

The lowly Domina laughed. "True. But it's bleak in England at the moment. February always was a particularly depressing month, don't you agree? But it is nice here." 

Automatically the Dea glanced down at the crest which rested on the left pocket of every DOM member's robes. The crest showed special information relating to that person's code name. This Domina's crest showed what looked like a black bat with a sword rammed in it. Dea Prejudice's heart almost stopped beating for a second. Quite by chance, she was discussing the weather with the enigmatic, the elusive, the shadowy Domina Eowyn! 

"Who," she inquired hastily, "was Eowyn?" 

The Domina laughed under her hood. "Soused at last! Well, I didn't think it would be long." 

"Recognition comes with life," replied Prejudice solemnly. 

"Yes, but some sorts of recognition are more unwelcome than others," replied Eowyn with a little sigh. Prejudice did not, then, understand exactly what she meant. 

"Eowyn," continued her namesake, "was a character from Tolkein's masterpiece, _The Lord of the Rings_- but haven't you read it?" Her voice expressed wonderment. "I thought everyone had read _Lord of the Rings_, or at least seen the films? No? How extraordinary!" 

Dea Prejudice almost crushed the apple in her annoyance. Were the Boss and Domina Eowyn one and the same person? She seriously considered that suggestion before noticing how Eowyn was about a head taller than the Boss. But no wonder that the Boss favoured this particular Domina! 

Before she could ask more on the subject of Eowyn, the Domina had loosened the collar of her navy blue robes to reveal her neck. She flapped her robes around a little to circulate the air. "But it _is_ warm today. Very nice to have met you, Dea. Good morning." She walked off, leaving Prejudice standing stock-still staring at the spot she had recently occupied. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. 

Actually, she had seen the necklace Domina Eowyn was wearing. Dea Prejudice had very good eyesight and a very good memory. It was this that had helped her to advance so far up into DOM. So it was not surprising she remembered where she had last seen such an unusual pendant. 

A woman, standing up in the middle of a crowded hall, all eyes upon her. A pendant, winking in the spotlights for all to see, unafraid of recognition. At last, Dea Prejudice knew who Domina Eowyn was. She was Lady Potter. 

The necklace presented even more complications now than when she had originally seen it. After all, what was a woman like Lady Potter doing wearing a necklace like that? 

Prejudice leaned back out of the window, heaved a sigh and took a large bite out of the shiny, red apple. The imprint of her teeth was left in the flesh afterwards and she stared at it as she thought. 

She could remember the necklace perfectly. It was a simple gold chain with a pendant dangling from it. This consisted of a gold sword with one small, red, ruby at its hilt. Wound round the sword was a silver serpent with one green eye. 

To someone as well educated as Dea Prejudice was, the symbolism was obvious. Gryffindor's sword was being embraced by Slytherin's snake. But what was such a blatantly obvious Gryffindor doing wearing a necklace with a Slytherin symbol on it? 

~~*~~

_It was a beautiful day and Godric Gryffindor was whistling. He was whistling for two reasons. Firstly, because it was the most beautiful day of summer and secondly because he was happy, healthy and nineteen years old. _

Indeed, it was truly a ravishing day. It was the sort of day on which even crusty, old Dominic, the overseer of Godric's Hollow would stare up at the sky, remove the stalk of grass from between his lips, push his straw hat back on his head and say that it was 'pleasant enough'. 

It was the sort of day on which if Godric saw him, he would even hail his cousin Salazar Slytherin as 'a jolly fine chap' and slap him on the back. 

If Godric tilted his head back as far as it would go, he was able to see a sky that was as blue as the wild cornflowers that grew in abundance along the track up to the Hollow, as clear as the water in the brook that cascaded over mossy stones down the bank at the back of the villa and as free from clouds as Godric's mind was free from complications. 

It was a warm day, without being too hot; in short, just perfect. The bright sun tickled his face and the back of his neck, and tanned his feet between the straps of his leather sandals. The air was not completely free from wind, however; a light breeze rustled the leaves every now and then or tousled Godric's black hair a little. 

The air was clear as a reflection. In fact, in that part of the world, everything seemed to be a reflection of the nearby sea. The water strengthened colour, heightened lines and enhanced beauty. 

Godric was walking up a steep path through the copse at the back of Godric's Hollow, out of the valley. The path was stony, leafy and surrounded by trees and flowers. Godric lifted an arm to a young oak by the pathway and cut off a small, thin branch, just under eleven inches long. 

As he walked, he began to whittle away at it. He was going to make himself a flute. As he walked and whistled and whittled, he thought about Julia whom he had left in Milan. She had given him a good time on his return journey to Britain. 

Godric had gone abroad at the age of eleven to gain an education in philosophy in Athens. A year later, he had been sent back by his tutors as a hopeless case. He was then sent to a school in Rome where he had spent seven interesting years learning the skill of oratory. He had proved a good pupil; the idea of being able to communicate his every wish effectively appealed to him a great deal. 

He was smallish man, with sharp, birdlike features. His eyes were dark brown that had an ironic, self-important quality. His face was quite swarthy and tough. If he was not quite handsome, he was very near it. 

Godric had few beliefs. He knew that life was short and therefore it was a good idea to get as much of it while one could as possible. He liked women, travel and mathematics. 

He was no philosopher. 

He was a light-hearted man, in matters of little importance. He could make a jest at every occasion (and not always in the best of taste). However, he had been well brought up and understood the ethics of the society he lived in (even if he did not follow them himself). 

He was not a hero either. 

Brushing back a curtain of foliage, he entered his very own secret hideaway, from when he was a child. It was a little stone clearing, up a few steps from the path and surrounded by greenery. There was a stone seat opposite the entrance which was now covered in moss, for no-one had sat on it for many years. If Godric peered round the back of the ancient seat, he commanded a tolerable outlook of the fields on the other side of the ridge, falling away towards the sparkling sea. 

Godric took a deep breath of tangy air and muttered, "Welcome back home, Godric!" 

He sat down on the seat, wincing a little as he felt the cold stone, and continued to calmly whittle the stick to try and make it as smooth as possible. He started whistling a new tune he had heard someone sing on the boat crossing the channel. But this brought back unpleasant memories of seasickness and rats, so he changed tune. 

Nothing could dampen his mood. His parents had been delighted to see how well he had turned out and had given a feast and invited Squire Ravenclaw from a neighbouring farm to join them. Godric was fond of the bluff farmer. He remembered that he had played with Ravenclaw's daughter when they had both been little. She was four or five years younger than him and had always shown an unhealthy interest in intelligent pursuits. 

Suddenly the green curtain parted and a woman stood there. Godric stopped whistling and lowered the stick abruptly. He stared at her very rudely. 

She was petite and a little plump round the middle. Her face was round and had a scattering of light brown freckles. Her hair was wispy and brown, and tied up on the top of her head. Her eyes were large and were of the clearest, most expressive blue. Her nose was short and turned up. 

There was a long pause then she said with hesitation, "Godric?" 

His gaze didn't leave her face. "Rowena?" 

She began to smile, and as she did so, her face seemed to undergo a transformation. Her mouth broadened, so that the corners of her lips appeared to reach her ears. Her eyes sparkled and danced with joy and her whole body seemed to gain energy and lightness. She would never be a handsome woman, but when she smiled with such warmth and pleasure, no-one would be able to think her plain. 

She nodded eagerly twice. "You've changed so much!" she cried, moving forward a pace and abruptly stopping. 

Godric leaned back a little, to survey her better and replied, luxuriating in the sound of his own voice, as he maintained eye contact, "So have you!" 

"Of course I have! I'm fourteen now!" 

Godric's eyes swept over her face, her bare neck and fingers and inquired casually, "Not married yet, I see?" 

She blushed. "No." 

There was a pause. Godric eventually said, "Do you still read in that ridiculously ravenous way? I remember you used to consume books like I devoured roast pork!" 

"Oh, come on! Yes, I do read still." A touch of wistfulness crept into her voice. "I suppose you've read everything on your travels, Godric. I should like so much to go to Rome..." 

Godric stood up, abruptly. "And so you shall, madam, so you shall! Walk with me, my young friend?" He offered her his arm. 

She took it and they left the hideaway. Rowena sighed. "Tell me about Italy. Is it- is it as beautiful as it should be? I've read so much about it and it sounds like paradise." 

"Don't you like Britain? I'm so glad to be back her that I can scarce imagine wanting to leave for a long time." 

"I love Britain, but..." She flung her arms wide and twirled round on the path in front of him, her smile back. "I've never been anywhere else, you see. How much I should like to see the places of old- Carthage, Rome, Ithaca, the ruins of Troy..." 

"Why don't you go?" 

Her face fell dramatically. "I'm a girl, in case you didn't notice. It's not that easy." 

He gave a slight grin. "I'll take you to all these places, if you want." 

She shook her head gravely. "I know you don't mean it, Godric, so don't tempt me, if you please." 

He shrugged. They trudged on, in silence. The path through the copse wound on uphill for a few more minutes, before emerging on the ridge. Bright sunlight dazzled them, and for a few moments they simply stared at the view. 

A stone wall marked the boundary between the path and the fields. Luminous, green grass fell away from them towards the sea, visible as a vague, blue-green glimmer in the distance, just darker than the azure sky. Nestled among the rolling fields of grazing cows and sheep was a sparkle of white stone where smoke was rising in a straight column from a chimney. "My house," said Rowena proudly, pointing. 

"You still manage the entire estate for your father, do you?" asked Godric, curiously. 

"Mostly. Father simply doesn't have the head for business. But it has become a little harder now that Caecilia is married." 

"What? But she's just a child!" exclaimed Godric. 

Rowena's mouth turned up at the corners. "Thirteen years old. She's married to a red faced old magistrate about my father's age, and has to live in a nasty city!" She gave a slight skip. "I don't envy her lot at all!" 

Godric smiled. "I dare say you've been employing yourself far better than by mere marriage!" 

She laughed a little self-consciously. "Well, perhaps I have. Shall I tell you what I've been doing?" She looked at him, sideways. 

"Go on." 

She paused for effect. "I have been learning magic-" 

"Mag-!" 

"And Godric," she continued quickly, "I've had simply the most marvellous idea!" 

"But Rowena, how could you learn magic? Women aren't supposed to." 

"My father taught me a few spells to make my work on the farm easier. But never mind that! Don't you want to hear what I have to say?" 

"It can't hurt if you tell me." 

She licked her lips and thought a minute. Godric started absent mindedly to whittle away at his branch again as they walked. Eventually Rowena, having collected her thoughts, started thus. 

"I have been aware, and I'm sure you have been as well, Godric, of the tension that exists between the Romans and Celts in this country. Especially the great amount of rivalry between Roman wizards and Celtic magicians, called Druids." She glanced up at Godric for confirmation. He nodded. 

"There is much prejudice in the country towards those who are not pure blood Roman wizards, such as yourself. Your mother may be a Slytherin, but your father is descended from a great line of British kings. In the eyes of some, this dilutes your magical potential, though it should not, since the Druid's magic is just as great, if not greater than that of the Romans." 

"I know of whom you speak," replied Godric, darkly. 

She glanced up at him. "Who?" 

An olive complexioned, shrewd and calculating face flashed into Godric's mind. "My cousin, Salazar Slytherin. He has always believed that being the descendant of a Greek slave was something to celebrate, simply because there was not a trace of Druid in his blood." 

"Some people are such fools!" cried Rowena bitterly. "You know, he is coming to have dinner with my father this evening." 

"Whatever for?" asked Godric in surprise. 

Rowena would not meet his eye. "They must have particular business to discuss. I-I have never met him. What is he like?" 

Godric shook his head. "I have seen him but once since my return from Italy. He is just as prejudiced, arrogant, snobby and cunning as he was before. Do not be friendly to him if you can possibly avoid it." 

She nodded. "I see." She frowned as she walked and appeared troubled by something. At last she smiled at him again and continued speaking. 

"I don't know how much you know about the state of magic in Britain, having been absent for so many years." 

"You might need to refresh my memory," agreed Godric. 

"Well, I have been studying it as much as I can and this is what I have come up with. There are two distinct types of magic that are used in Britain at this time: the sorcery of the Druids, and the pure magic of the Romans, as they call it." 

"Go on." 

"The Druids believe that magic exists in every living thing, and that it is merely stronger in some than in others. They need no spells to make something happen. In fact, just like I turn my head, without consciously thinking about it, so do they do magic. The magic is in them and they are the magic. 

"On the other hand, the Romans do not think that. Our magic stems from our belief in the gods. Magic is simply the atheist's explanation for religion. We can implore the gods to make something happen, and in the same way we can say the right words and it will occur. That is why it is called 'pure magic'; it has been refined so much that it is no longer natural." 

"That's a little harsh on your own people, Rowena!" 

"I speak as I find. The way we do magic is also different. Druids believe that magic flows round our body with our blood and that it can be released effectively in contact with some natural substance, a tree or something. The Romans simply use inanimate words that they have cleverly thought up. They have to consciously point at what they want to conjure with and say the appropriate words." 

"I don't have to," said Godric smugly. 

"Don't have to what?" 

"Point. I just say the words and it happens. Very useful. I find magic a lot easier than most, possibly because of this." 

"Ah," cried Rowena, eyes gleaming. "You know why this is? Because you're descended from Druids as well as Romans. You're magic is freer than most people's. That is, most people brought up with the Roman system. Godric, will you stop fiddling with that stick! I'm sorry to bring it up, but it's very distracting. Give me the twig." 

Godric handed it over with a wry smile. "Here you go. I remember you always hated my doing anything as I walked. Can I have it back afterwards, though? Please?" 

She rolled her eyes. "Of course! Anyway, as I was saying, Romans find it harder to do magic than Druids because of their lack of agreement with nature. So, here is my idea. We make an entirely new kind of magic!" 

"What do you mean?" 

"This! The Druids think that the Romans are too styalised; the Romans believe that the Druid's magic is sloppy! Let's combine the best things of both systems." 

"How?" asked Godric, who was unwillingly becoming interested. 

"Well," explained Rowena, gesticulating madly in her excitement, "what I thought was this. Perhaps the reason it is so difficult for the Romans to do magic effectively is because they aren't sufficiently in tune with nature, so we should make them channel their spells through something relatively natural. Something like... like... this!" She held up the oak stick in triumph. 

"That's my flute you're waving around, you know." 

"Not anymore it isn't!" She grinned and danced around the path in front of him. "You see, the Romans can't complain that it's not structured and the Druids will having nothing to object to about the nature problem. It's perfect!" 

Godric shook his head. "I'm sorry that I can't join in the festivities just now. Have you really thought this through practically? I mean, you can't just expect the whole civilised world to suddenly start doing their spells with pieces of wood in their hands because some woman in England thinks it might make it easier." 

"I know that, Godric!" she cried in exasperation. "Don't forget I've had seven years to think this through. We'll start a school to teach every single magical child the principles of the scheme." 

"Did I hear you say 'we'?" 

"Of course. You surely don't think I can do this on my own?" They stopped. Rowena looked up at him. Her blue eyes were wide and pleading. 

"But Rowena," stammered Godric, "I've just got home!" 

"Godric, I've been waiting for you. I know that you'll help me. You always helped me when I was a child. Do you remember the compost game?" 

"Uh- no!" Godric seemed to have wiped this event from his memory. 

"I was going to commit suicide by throwing myself from the wall onto the compost heap, which you had set on fire. We did get into awful trouble for that one," she mused. "But Godric, you were always there for me. This is just the same again!" 

Godric chuckled and shook his head. "I seriously hope that this adventure doesn't involve setting fire to anything, though." 

"So you're in?" she gasped. 

Suddenly Godric thought of something. "Rowena- what about when you marry?" 

She sighed and scruffed her sandals into the ground. "I wondered when that subject would come up. I have, so far, managed to avoid it pretty well, though there were a couple of narrow shaves." 

"What do you mean? How can you avoid marriage if your father wishes it?" 

She laughed. "Well, let's see, after they've seen me, dowry or no dowry, they're generally a little put-off. I always look my worst when a suitor comes to visit; I always tell them about Euclidean mathematics whatever they seem interested in, and I give them the impression that I am some dreadful, vixinish shrew." 

"Well, you are, aren't you?" 

"Godric! Still, Father is growing angry. Caecilia's suitor originally came for me, but went away with my younger sister! He will marry me to the next person who comes along, I feel sure of it. He is terribly indulgent, but he is often teased for his inability to wed his daughter!" She paused, and when Godric did not say anything, continued sadly, "No sensible man is going to want a wife like me." 

Godric stopped walking abruptly and turned to face her. "Marry me." 

Rowena's lips parted slightly and her eyes grew wide. "Oh," she breathed. She blushed. "I suppose you thought I meant to hint. I certainly didn't mean it like that." She self consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. 

"I mean it. I'm asking you a serious question. I'm not a sensible man, on the whole, and I happen to like vixinish shrews." 

She stammered, "You're not supposed to do it like this! You have to ask Father first..." 

"But I don't want to marry your father!" burst out Godric angrily. "I want to marry you!" 

She raised her eyes to his face. "You want to marry me?" she said incredulously. 

He shrugged. "I'll take you to Rome, to Carthage. I'll show you the ruins of Troy. And then we'll found your school. If you want this, Rowena, you'll have to want me. Like all marriages, this would be a purely practical arrangement." 

"But I-" 

He caught hold of her hand. "I've seen a lot of the world, Rowena, and I have never seen anyone like you in all my travels. But I was waiting to meet a child. When I came back, I didn't realise that you would have grown up too. You're not as pretty as the Julias and Cornelias that I met in Italy, but at least I can talk to you! The man who passes over you would be a fool- you are perfectly unique. If you'll have me I'll think myself the luckiest man in all Europe." 

She seemed incapable of replying. Eventually she replied in wonderment, "No-one's ever talked to me before like that." 

"Of course they haven't! But Rowena, don't you think it would work? You see, I've thought about marriage a lot these last few years, and I've come to the conclusion that all it is is simple respect. If you don't respect your partner then whatever else you feel there's nothing going. I respect you more than anybody else I know, and you must respect me, or you wouldn't have asked me for help." 

She seemed puzzled. "Yes, I do respect you, Godric. But I... I did think that there was something else to marriage. At least, there is in books. The woman always feels something great, like being touched by a Goddess. There's something wild about it all, which I don't feel." 

"Do you love me, Rowena?" 

She shook her head. "Well no, not really. I just felt like I was coming home when I saw you. You always were a rock for me to lean on, and you still are. I feel completely at ease with you for I trust you entirely. But I don't love you." 

Godric gave a short bark of delighted laughter. "It's very clear you've been reading quite the wrong sort of romantic literature, my dear! Come, you say my bratty cousin dines with you tonight. Well, expect me tomorrow. And when you see me, don't hesitate to bring up geometry!" 

~~~

A/N: Nero composes poetry, Rowena is in tiz after the dinner with Salazar and Lady Potter is in trouble. All this, and more, in **Chapter Nine**! _Due to GCSE examinations and other commitments, a release date cannot be specified for this chapter; however, everyone who reviews this chapter, will be Private Owled when I post it. If you are unregistered and want a chapter alert, please e-mail me. _

~Silvestria~ 


	10. IX

**

CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine

**

Chapter 9 _'Close your eyes for your eyes will only tell the truth,

And the truth isn't what you want to see.'

_- From 'The Phantom of the Opera' by Andrew Lloyd Webber. 

_**The Book**_

Tuesday February 14th 2023, SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY, 17:32:15, Hospital Wing, Hogwarts

I passed a restless night. After all, after suffering such agonies as I had done during the day, how could I be expected to _sleep_ of all things? 

I ran all the way from the quidditch pitch to my dormitory without stopping for a moment. What Nero did I have no idea, and not the least curiosity to know about. I drew the curtains round my four poster, crawled beneath the covers and wrote up the entire evening's adventures in my diary. I heard the others come up to bed, a few hours later. However, I stayed as quiet as a mouse; I think they thought I was asleep. 

Even when I had finished writing, I still stayed awake and listened to the noises of the night. Later on, the wind picked up and howled round the castle. Though my bed was warm, I shivered. After midnight it began to rain. I could hear its insistent beating on the window panes. I think I must fallen asleep listening to it. 

A little before three I woke up again. The pattering of the rain had increased in strength and the wind whistled down the chimney in cold gusts. A storm was passing over us. My hands felt icy cold, though the rest of me was burning hot. I took a gulp of water and turned my pillow over. 

When I next awoke, all was quiet save for the dull sound of a light rain. I pulled open the hangings of my four poster; the dormitory was light. Gingerly I sat up in bed and then lay abruptly down. My head felt like lead. I blew my nose and tried this little manœvre again. This time I managed to check the time on my watch. Half past eight. Classes would start in half an hour. I groaned and slumped back into bed. 

The girls had left their stuff lying round the floor as usual while they went to breakfast. I glanced out of the window. The cold, clear and frosty weather of yesterday had merged overnight into the much more familiar overcast, leaden sky with a gloomy, never stopping rainfall. 

Eventually Jill and Kim returned to get their books. They were giddy and hysterical from Valentines' breakfast. Jill was clutching a large, red satin heart full of chocolates. Kim had two pieces of buttered toast. She handed them to me. "I thought you might be hungry." 

I thanked her, but my stomach turned at the thought of eating. Jill sat down on my bed. "Well, how are you? You looked dreadful last night, when you came rushing in. Look what Jimmy gave me? Wasn't it sweet of him? Are you coming to classes today? Well, the funniest thing happened at breakfast this morning!" 

Kim smiled and giggled. I waited. I could do with a laugh. "So what happened?" 

Jill explained. "Well, it was over at the Slytherin table. I never thought Slytherins had a sense of humour, but there you go. It all centred round Nero Malfoy and Joan Whatsername- they're been going out since September, you know who I mean. Basically, Joan received a- but are you sure you're all right? You look like you're going to be sick- received a howler from Nero. The first we heard of it was when we _heard_ it. He started by wishing her a Happy Valentine's Day and she giggled and simpered, but then he read out this poem he had written to her which made her run out of the room in floods of tears." Jill paused. "I do feel a little sorry for her. But not much." 

Kim laughed and told me that I'd have to wait for Xanthia to hear the poem itself, since she'd supposedly memorised it. All Kim could remember was the bit about what Joan had seen. 

"What did Joan see?" I cried, sharper than I had intended. 

Jill drew back in surprise. "No need to bite my head off. No-one knows what Joan saw, except that it was behind the quidditch pitch and was something very dreadful indeed. The whole school's talking about it. I imagine it's something like-" 

The bell cut her off, and abandoning her previous thread, she lept up and ran to the door. "Skrewts! I'm late for Defence Against the Dark Arts! Coming Kim? I'll get your work, Cassie! See ya!" She rushed out of the dormitory. 

Kim rolled her eyes and lagged behind. "Are you sure you're all right?" she asked anxiously. "It's not just today, but you've looked a bit off colour for weeks. I was talking about it with Felix earlier and he agrees with me. I wouldn't worry about Jill, if I were you. She's gone a little over the top since Jimmy gave her the chocolates. I'm wondering now if he didn't spike them!" 

I grinned at her, then said, "I do have flu, but I should be better soon. Thanks for being considerate," I replied sincerely. "You had better get off to your lesson now, I suppose. I'll see you at lunchtime." 

She picked up her bag and opened the door. "Have a good rest," she advised me, before leaving the room. 

When she was gone, I heaved a great sigh and settled down into the pillows with a large box of tissues and nibbled a corner of the toast. Jill's tale of what Nero had done at breakfast, filled me with horror. That he should have even hinted at what had happened the previous night was dreadful. Had he no morals? But then, I recollected, he had already shown himself to be moraless. He had bullied me, manipulated me and then exploited me. What was worse, was that I had fallen for it all! 

I saw it now for what it was. There was no great magic in the stone. It had all been a plot to get rid of his girlfriend and humiliate me at the same time. A plot constructed with the utmost cunning and cold malice. A shiver ran through me as I thought of what had happened to me. He had had me in his power. He had made up a fantasy world that was so convincing that he believed in it himself. Not only that, he had made me believe in it too. The boy ought to be certified! He is a danger to the public! 

As I thought of what I had been caught up in, tears squeezed out of my eyes. But to actually _believe_ in it? What had I been thinking of? Things like what I had been imagining do not happen in real life. 

The idea that the green stone might have properties like The One Ring had crossed my mind more than once in the past few weeks. What world had I been living in? That it would bring back Lord Voldemort? Where did I get this rubbish from? We are a peaceful world and have been for years. True, the muggles may have been shooting their little missiles across oceans for the last twenty years on and off, but we have more sense than that. 

People like my mother are in their important posistions because they deal with things like this. There are aurors who stop things like what Nero had been thinking of happening as a permanent job. Besides, how could a fifteen year old boy be involved in bringing back Lord Voldemort? Common sense defied it all. And common sense seemed to be just what I lacked. 

And yet, there were coincidences. It was odd that Nero should touch on an object that I actually had in my possession. (I found it in rock pool! (The One Ring was found in a river bed.) Now I was just scaring myself.) 

It was bizarre that he was willing to do dark magic just to get it. (He's a Slytherin- why should I be surprised?) 

His behaviour when I gave him the stone had been definitely strange. (He's in Slytherin- I know what good actors they are.) 

The fact that there were historical objects connected to Slytherin which looked somewhat like the stone, was peculiar. 

Suddenly I remembered a line from one of the muggle fantasy films Xanthia had shown me at Christmas. _My friend, there is a fine line between coincidence and fate._* Yes, but there _is_ a line, that's what's important. Codswallop. There is no such thing as fate, anyway. That's the easy way out for people who do not want to accept responsibility for their actions. 

I was sore on yet another point. Nero had kissed me. I had always thought that a first kiss was supposed to involve fireworks and all that stuff you read about. It's supposed to be with someone you really love, surely? Where exactly does Nero fit in here? Fireworks? Almost laughable. Someone I'm deeply in love with? Definitely laughable! 

I punched the pillow. _It wasn't fair._

The bell rang for morning break. I snuggled under the blankets and hoped I would go unnoticed. After about five minutes, however, there was a knock on the door. I sniffed. "Who's there?" 

There was a silence, then a voice called, "It's, um, Jack. Er, Weasley. Is Cassandra in there?" 

I dragged myself out of bed and staggered over the great expanse of red pile carpet to the door. I pulled it open. "Do I have so much of a cold that you can't even recognize my voice?" 

He looked taken aback. "Well, yeah, actually. I just came to see if you were all right. By the way, why are you wearing pyjamas?" 

I rolled my eyes. "I'm wearing pyjamas because I'm spending the day in bed nursing a cold. Obviously." 

"I'm sorry you're ill. But what will you do about the quidditch match this afternoon? Gryffindor will undoubtably loose the cup if you don't play." 

I closed my eyes and leaned against the door frame. "I can't play," I said, flatly. "They'll have to use the substitute." 

"But-" 

I opened my eyes again. "Jack, I can't." 

He hesitated then nodded. "I'll tell Captain Pauline. They can get that really good fifth year to play, I'm sure. You know- the one with mohican." 

"I'll get kicked off the team." 

"I'm sure you won't! When Pauline knows how ill you are, I'm sure she'll forgive you." 

"No, she won't!" 

"That's being paranoid. Come on, Cassie! It's not that bad, is it?" 

I suddenly had the inclination to cry again. I turned away from him. He touched my arm gently. "You'll get better soon. Colds don't last forever, you know. Besides, it'll soon be spring, and then you'll feel miles better. I know I always do." 

I smiled at him, in thanks. We stood together in silence. Jack seemed searching for a topic of conversation. At last he said, "You didn't miss much in Defence Against the Dark Arts. We were going over the homework on boggarts and Professor Harker set us some more exercises. Jill got you some sheets. Did she tell you what happened at breakfast?" 

My heart sank. Was this all the school was talking about? "She touched on it. Something to do with Nero Malfoy writing poetry." 

"Oh yeah, that," he replied, dismissively. "That was funny, I guess, if you like public humiliation." 

"What do you mean? It was Joan Witherspoon! We don't exactly care for her. I thought you hated all Slytherins." 

A shadow of a frown crossed his face. "No, I _dislike_ all Slytherins. I _hate_ Nero Malfoy. And he had the upper hand there." He paused and deliberated. "Do you remember on our first day of First Year, Malfoy insulted you and I challenged him to a duel? You wouldn't let me, and he wouldn't let you. But I swear, Cassie, I swear that one day I'll fight him." 

"Well, I hope you do it sooner than later!" I exclaimed with energy. 

He stared at me in surprise then coughed and looked at the floor. Finally; "So, um, did you get anything for Valentine's Day?" 

"Take a guess. Did you?" 

"Um, no." There was a long, constrained silence. Finally Jack stammered, "I wanted to get you something, Cassandra, but I thought you'd get, you know, the wrong idea. I know you hate all the Valentine's Day paraphenalia, but I did want to get you something. As friends." 

"So why didn't you?" 

"Oh, but I did!" He produced a crumpled brown paper bag and shrugged as if he rather wished he had not done anything at all. "Sugar quills. Nothing special." 

I reached out and took the bag, feeling a little perplexed. "No-one's ever got me a Valentine's present before. Thank-you, Jack. I appreciate it." 

He scratched his nose and studied his scruffy, brown lace-ups. "Well then. I suppose I'd better go." Before I could reply, he was gone, leaving me shivering on the landing, holding the packet of Sugar Quills. 

At lunch time Xanthia called with condolences and dragged me to the hospital wing. She told me that there was absolutely no way I was going to be let off playing quidditch if I was not even in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey looked at me, looked outside at the swirling grey clouds and lashing rain and then said I could stay the afternoon. At the end of the lunch hour, Pauline Knox, Captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, swept into the room, marmite sandwhich in one hand, Tornado 4 in the other. 

She strode purposefully up to the bed and immediately started her tirade. "Golly, Cassandra, what is all this? Martin Weasley's little brother told me you were out of action. I say, this is a bit much!" Bread crumbs scattered as she waved her sandwich about. 

"I'm ill," I replied, turning away from her. 

"Pah!" cried Pauline, spraying sesame seeds, "and I'm a niffler! Galloping gargoyles, everyone's ill at times, but _no-one's_ ill just before quidditch!" 

Madam Pomfrey bustled up. "I hope you're not disturbing my patient, Miss Knox. If Miss Potter wasn't here before the game, she almost certainly would be afterwards." 

"Hey!" 

The nurse's eyes were gimlets. "I know what Potters are like in quidditch games." 

"Oh, for love and quidditch!" cried Pauline, stamping her foot. "Just get your sorry butt onto the pitch- that's all I ask!" 

"Language, Miss Knox! Five points from Gryffindor. And surely you have a substitute? Now, if you'll excuse us, my patient needs rest." 

"But- Great Merlin!" 

"Out!" 

Pauline shoved the remains of her sandwich ungracefully into her mouth, gave me a very dirty look and stomped out. 

Madam Pomfrey glared at me. "Now Miss Potter, drink up this Pepper-up Potion. You're welcome to stay here for this afternoon. You have influenza and I wouldn't have anyone with that out in the rain, especially a Potter." 

"Why _especially a Potter_?" 

"There was hardly a single quidditch game in which your father didn't end up here afterwards. After you've regrown bones, broomsticks and whatnot, you get a little wary of hearing 'Potter' and 'quidditch' mentioned in the same breath." 

"Oh yeah, my father mentioned the bludger thing once." 

"Bludger thing. Honestly," muttered Madam Pomfrey, drawing the curtains round me and leaving me alone. 

Now that I was finally in peace, I felt less inclined than ever for soul searching. I did not particularly like what I saw and I tried not to think about it too much. I fidgited and tried to think about my lessons. But even the dates of the Goblin Rebellion (usually so useful in similar situations) did not seem to be lodged in an accessible part of my brain. 

A welcome relief came from the unexpected arrival of Xanthia. Madam Pomfrey, sensing my restlessness, decided to let her in which I was grateful for. 

"Why aren't you at the match?" was my opening gambit. 

"The population's a little less dense here and they don't look as though they'll need their substitute Keeper. I assumed you might be wanting some company. Feel free to chuck me out if I'm wrong." She sat down confidantly on the bed. 

I smiled. Xanthia always had the effect of cheering me up. 

"Let me see, invalid," she continued, "what's wrong with you. I want a full confession that it was all brought about by mysterious late night assignations with undesirable members of the opposite sex." 

"That isn't even funny," said I, feeling the reverse of cheered up. 

She stopped laughing and shook her head at me. "Dear me, Cassandra, whatever shall we do with you? Now, I want to know every single sordid detail." 

"Why not tell me Nero Malfoy's poem, which you supposedly know off by heart, first?" 

"How about we save that as a prize for you when you've given me all the low down?" 

"I'd like to hear it now." 

There must have been something in the way I said that because she looked at me, surprised, then fumbled in her robes for something. She emerged triumphantly with a scrap of paper. "I had to write it down somewhere- it was too priceless to forget." 

She read it out loud, then allowed me to copy it down here: 

_Though certainly not I you loathe, To like you a little, I suppose, Would be a feat of the immagination That is a little below my station. This I tell you, (I am no loon), We are through, Joan Witherspoon. If ever, when you are feeling coy, And you want to get back Malfoy, Just remember what you saw last night- Behind the quidditch pitch, out of sight. If you think of this, then, I doubt you'll ever want to see me, again!_

There was a long silence. Xanthia was sniggering to herself and I felt myself to be as straight faced as a poker. Eventually- "Is there a bad poetry award? He doesn't even deserve that." 

Xanthia was grinning wildly. "It's _genius_! Everyone was laughing. Even my mother was having hysterics." 

"Catherine? I don't believe it." 

"You better had," replied Xanthia with a toss of her curls. "She almost spilt her coffee she was laughing so hard. Professor Harker asked her what the matter was, and all she could say was something like _Nero Malfoy- bad poetry- I can't believe it!_" 

"I would have thought my godmother would have more sense than to find such a thing as that amusing," I retorted, disappointed in her. 

"Ah, she's only human, and like other members of that dysfunctional race, is often inappropriately entertained." 

"That's no excuse." 

Xanthia did not reply to this. Instead she said, "So, I read you the poem, are you going to tell me what happened to you?" 

There was no getting out of it, and in some ways I was not sorry. "Nero Malfoy kissed me." 

Xanthia raised her eyebrows. "Really? I can't imagine why you're sorry about that! He's quite a charmer, isn't he?" 

I regarded her stiffly. "Charmer- you say?" 

Xanthia shrugged. "He amuses me. He's so full of himself- so pompous. Thinks all he has to do is ask and he'll get. I don't think you should worry, Cassandra. He's just chock full of hormones." 

"That doesn't help! I didn't want him to kiss me, but he did all the same." 

She did look sorry, but she still refused to commiserate too much. "It happens. Look, kissing gets far too much press, in my opinion. I don't hold much by it. Honestly, who cares who's snogging who? It's so tedious. And to think the basic plot of the soap opera is the whinging roundabout mix-ups of the sexed up population of Dullville! Please don't tell me you're descending to the same plateau that my dorm mates are on. They'd rather spend an afternoon with George or Ben or Mark or someone than doing their OWL revision. I wouldn't say I'm a swot, but I do know what I need to be concentrating on at the moment." She drew breath. 

"Have you ever kissed anyone, Xanthia?" 

"Why yes, I have." 

"Who?" 

"Oh, Laurence Macmillan of Hufflepuff. He said he fancied me, we went to the _Three Broomsticks_ together and he kissed me." 

"What was it like?" 

She shrugged. "Nothing much to write home about. We broke up." 

"Why did you go out in the first place?" 

"I was fourteen; it was the thing to do. But Larry got on my nerves so I dumped him. We had the chemistry of a pair of overweight slugs. You're much better off without a boyfriend, Cassandra. They're wastes of space, at your age at any rate." 

"But I'm not going out with Malfoy!" I cried, desperate for her to understand. "He forced me to kiss him! You know what it said in that poem? What Joan saw? She saw Nero kissing me by the Quidditch pitch!" 

Xanthia frowned. "Perhaps he was getting money for doing it. You know what Slytherins are like." 

I shook my head. "It was to stop us being seen talking to each other." 

She looked astonished. "What on earth were you talking to Malfoy about? I can understand kissing him... but _talking_ to him?!" 

"I had something that he lost- by mistake, you understand- and I was giving it him back." Perhaps if I just did not say anything about the stone, it would all disappear and I could forget about it. A whole day had passed since I gave it to Nero and Lord Voldemort had not yet returned. I felt silly. 

"Really? That seems a pretty innocent thing to be doing." 

"Well, you know what people would say..." I trailed off. 

"Of course. Still," continued Xanthia, a wicked gleam in her grey eyes, "maybe he fancies you!" 

"Don't be absurd!" 

"Well, I noticed him stalking you for the past few weeks and staring at you at breakfast. He needn't have kissed you, you know. He could have found a different way of protecting you from slander." 

"_Protecting_ me? What do you mean?" 

"Isn't it obvious? If he hadn't kissed you, everyone would know by now that you, Harry Potter's daughter, were trying to make friends with the biggest scum from Slytherin that there is. Or whatever reason Malfoy would have made up to make it look your fault. As it is, the only thing that's known, is that Nero Malfoy was kissing an unknown Gryffindor, and nobody's any the worse off for that." 

I had not thought of it that way. Put like that, his behaviour had been odd. I did not know what to make of it. "Well," I said eventually, with a slightly self concious giggle, "if he does fancy me, that's his problem!" 

"That's the spirit, girl!" said Xanthia, in approval. 

I grinned at her, suddenly almost wanting to laugh. Did he really fancy me? No, surely not. How ridiculous! I supposed he was quite good looking, when I thought about it. I felt quite flattered. Not that there was anything in what Xanthia said. And besides, what sort of compliment was it, if the only person who liked you was completely corrupt and a death eater in making? My smile slipped slowly off my face. 

Xanthia misinterpreted my expression. "Don't worry, he'll get over it. He'll get his five galleons for last night's little escapade and that'll be the end of it." She smiled. "You must be tired. Why don't you get some sleep now, and I'll go outside and see who's winning?" 

She squeezed my hand and left me along in the hospital wing feeling almost as confused as I had been that morning. 

_Cassandra E. Potter_

~~*~~

John Farrel was a very clever man. Either that, or he was simply very fortunate. For he had fallen in love with and married Ginny Weasley and she gave him three children; Richard and two daughters Bobbie and Alex. As well as that, for those who cared for professional records, he had found himself, at merely twenty years of age, the personal secretary to the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, a position he held to this day, with the new Minister, Harry Potter's wife. 

This lady had recently been voted the best roll model in Britain, in a survey in _Witch Weekly_. She was the wealthiest witch in the country, she was married to Heart Throb Harry Potter, held the record for highest ever NEWT results, had a high flying daughter at Hogwarts and a country mansion in Derbyshire. Moreover, she was in charge of the entire wizarding community and had not made a single wrong decision yet. The nation loved their leader. 

On Wednesday February the Fifteenth 2023, Lady Potter was sitting in her pleasant and airy office on the top floor of the Ministry of Magic fulfilling her roll as Minister. This involved reading many letters from Heads of Departments, occasionally holding meetings with the Governing Committee, and drinking an absurb amount of coffee. 

The outer office belonged to John Farrel. He was sitting at his desk, with his feet up, reading _The Daily Prophet_ and picking his teeth. 

And such was the situation when there was a knock at John's door. John pressed a button on his desk. The door appeared to melt away allowing him a perfect view of the visitor. He gazed at the person outside and whistled. It was an exceptionally handsome lady. He released the button and the door faded back into place. 

"Come in!" 

He quickly removed his legs from the desk, and swept the toothpick and some sweet wrappers from the desk into the bin beside it. 

The door clicked open and shut. She stood still in John's office, her deep blue eyes looking very swiftly round it. She was tall and slim and carried herself with a dancer's poise. Her neck was long and her pale cheekbones high. Her sleek, dark hair was almost black and was twisted up on the back of her neck. 

"Can I help you at all, Madam?" inquired John cheerfully, seeing as his visitor did not seem inclined to speak. 

She turned her head gracefully towards him. "Are you the secretary?" 

"I am." 

"I would like to see the Minister." 

"I'm afraid Lady Potter's rather busy at the moment. If you could give me your name and business...?" 

She had looked away while he spoke, but now she turned towards him again. "My name would not mean anything to you and my business is my own affair." 

Farrel leaned forwards across the desk towards her. He grinned. "I'm afraid we don't operate like that here." He surreptiously pushed another button on the floor with his foot. This would allow the Minister next door to hear their conversation. "Now, Madam, your name?" 

She raised her eyebrows a little. "You won't have heard it before. However, I do not object to telling you, if it matters so much. My name is Anastacia Austen." 

She was right; John had not heard it before. "Russian?" he hazarded. 

He was rewarded by a fleeting smile. "My grandfather." 

"Ah, really? What part of Russia do you come from?" 

"Moscow." 

John Farrel nodded affably. "Do sit down. Do you know, Miss Austen- I am assuming you're a Miss, aren't you?- I went to Moscow myself last year. Lovely place, isn't it?" 

She inclined her head and said politely, "Yes, indeed." 

"We went to the ballet there, and saw Swan Lake. Never seen anything so beautiful in my life. I don't suppose you were dancing in it, were you?" It was a guess, but worth it to see the look of surprise cross her face. 

She recovered instantly. "You are mistaken. I have never danced with the Russian ballet. If you wish me to tell you my profession, then I am perfectly willing. I run a dancing school in Manchester for muggle children. You were quite close." 

"What a worthy thing to do! I suppose it's about that that you've come to see the Minister about? Really, won't you sit down?" 

"I will tell the Minister herself what I want to say. My business is of a somewhat private nature." 

At that moment, the door to the inner office opened and Lady Potter herself stood on the threshold. She smiled at her visitor and, ushering her in, said, "I shall hear your business now. And John- turn the intercom off. Now won't you come it?" 

"Said the spider to the fly!" finished Miss Austen, closing the door behind her. "Your Ladyship need have no apprehensions. I am not afraid of you." 

"I'm very glad to hear it!" replied the Minister, sitting down behind her desk, and conjuring a chair for her guest. "Now, what can I do for you?" 

Miss Austen sat down. For a minute she did not reply, but merely stared at Lady Potter in silence. If her intention was to unnerve that lady, she failed; for Lady Potter only stared right back, a look of mild interest on her face. Finally, she sighed and said, "I am afraid that I have work of pressing importance. I'm sorry I've not been able to help you." 

Miss Austen said quietly, "I have come from the Department of Mysteries." 

The Minister had half risen. Now, she sat back again and frowned at her visitor. "This is most irregular," she said. 

Anastacia nodded. "I quite agree with you. However, you see, this is a rather irregular visit." 

Lady Potter rested her chin on one hand and asked, "How did you get in? You had no appointment, and we do have _some_ sort of security system here, whatever you may think." 

Anastacia smiled benignly. "I'm a spy, Minister!" 

The Minister chose not to reply to this statement, but instead commented, "I was not aware that members of the Department of Mysteries were allowed to reveal themselves to members of the public." 

Miss Austen smiled thinly. "I have no intention of doing that. I would hardly say that you are a member of the public, Domina Eowyn." 

Lady Potter was silent. Anastacia continued, "I am somewhat higher up in the ranks of the Department than you are. I should tell you that the Boss holds you in great esteem. Far greater esteem that perhaps you deserve. She has wanted to promote you above all others on many occasions." 

"If you have come with the soul purpose of insulting me, then I am afraid that I must ask you to leave." 

"Oh no, not at all. I have come to discuss your necklace." 

"My necklace?" exclaimed Lady Potter, sounding astonished. Her hand automatically went to the necklace at her throat. "What is so interesting about it?" 

Miss Austen sounded almost apologetic. "It interests me, I must say. Isn't a Conjuncta Charm used?" 

"Yes, it is. How did you know?" 

She shrugged. "You are always wearing it. Besides, it makes sense. The Potters of Gryffindor are almost as old as Hogwarts itself. It would be unsurprising to find that they possessed such an ancient heirloom. Sir Harry, I presume, got it from his dear _Aunt Lily_- or is she his mother? It hardly matters- and then gave it to you." 

"May I ask-" 

Miss Austen held up her hand and continued, "The Conjuncta Charm has always fascinated me. How it shows the very deepest personalities of two different people on one object- it is certainly very intriguing, isn't it? For the Conjuncta Charm hides nothing. Imagine the mischief that could be made if a Conjuncta Charmed object of someone with a secret got into the wrong hands! Now what intrigues me about your necklace, my dear Lady Potter, is that it seems to have made a mistake." 

There was an odd tenseness in her Ladyship's face, that had not been there at the beginning of the conversation. "A mistake? I don't know what you mean." 

"Yes, odd, isn't it? It's your personalities that clash, you see. Ever since I first heard of the famous Harry Potter- and I was only two years behind him at school, you know!- I've been intrigued by how much of a Gryffindor he is. The year I came to Hogwarts, the only thing people were talking about (before the Sirius Black Incident, of course!) was how young Harry Potter pulled Godric Gryffindor's ruby encrusted sword out of a hat and rescued little Ginny Weasley from the Chamber of Secrets. How fabulously brave he was! What a wonderful house Gryffindor was!" 

"I take it you were not in Gryffindor, then?" interrupted Lady Potter, a slight tinge of sarcasm in her voice. 

"Ravenclaw, but that's not the point. The point is that I presume the sword on your necklace represents Gryffindor's sword, pulled with so much heroism by Harry Potter, out of the ragged old Sorting Hat!" 

"What if it does?" inquired Lady Potter. 

"Well then, _why are you represented by a green snake_? Excuse me if I am wrong, but I thought that you too were in Gryffindor and that you too were involved in the final defeat of the Dark Lord. You will understand my confusion." 

"Not especially," replied Lady Potter, mildly. "You have jumped to a lot of conclusions, for which you have no proof. How do you know that the snake doesn't represent my husband? For your information, he does speak Parseltongue! And may I add, that it is none of your business whatsoever!" 

"Isn't it?" asked Miss Austen, just as calmly. "I think you're wrong there. Let me tell you about my job in the Department of Mysteries." 

"I was under the impression that that information was confidential." 

Anastacia smiled broadly across the desk. "Oh, I am quite sure I can rely on your Ladyship's discretion. I am a Dea. That does not mean anything to you, I suppose. No? Excellent. You have been well trained not to be curious. I am in the top rank of the Department of Mysteries. There are only four of us. Deus Selene and I are in charge of the search for the Death Eaters and the attempt to stop the Dark from taking over again. You," her lip curled a little, "are not in this half of the Department. You lot deal with _everything else_! Anyway, I digress. As I said, I and one other are in charge of the rise and fall of the Dark and I know a great deal about the life and death of Lord Voldemort. 

"It would possibly interest you to learn something of his life history; although, you being the wife of Harry Potter, I cannot imagine that there is much you do not know. Still, perhaps I may be able to surprise you yet." 

"I assure you," said Lady Potter firmly, "that you have entirely mistaken the level of my interest. Should I wish to know anything at all about Voldemort- and you have yourself kindly reminded me that it is not my job to know anything about him- then I would read a book on the subject. I promise you there are plenty." 

"Yes, there are," agreed Miss Austen, leaning forwards a little. "But-" 

"And I would certainly _not_ ask a stranger to reveal professional secrets," insisted Lady Potter. 

"But does it mention in any book about our belief that Lord Voldemort had a paramour?" continued Anastacia, ignoring the interruption. She laughed a little. "You look surprised. But would you be even more surprised to hear that we believe that a little something- or should I say some_one_- came of this relationship?" 

"I would be surprised, yes," replied Lady Potter gravely. 

Miss Austen stood up and walked to a window. There, she turned around and faced the Minister again. She smiled artlessly and spread her hands wide. "We don't know who this person is," she said simply. 

"I'm sorry, Miss Austen, but I cannot help you," said Lady Potter edgily. The knuckles of her hands, folded on top of the desk, were almost white. 

Miss Austen ignored her. She was now looking out of the window. "You see, he or she could be anyone. They certainly do not go by the name of Voldemort, as you may imagine! They could be me- or you. They might not even know- and think how terrible it would be to their reputation if the public found out. One minute, say, you're Joe Bloggs- the next, you're the only remaining descendant of the most evil wizard ever! Not a change for the better, in my opinion." She turned round again. 

Lady Potter stood up and moved away from her desk. Her vioce was soft. "What you intend to achieve by telling me this, I cannot imagine. If you want something, then you had better tell me. Otherwise, I suggest you leave. At the moment, I am currently resisting the temptation to hex you into oblivion." She revealed her wand, lying flat on the palm of her right hand. 

Anastacia took a step backwards but remained uninpressed by the threat. "As a matter of fact," she said, "there was something that I wanted. I want a sponsor." 

"A what?" exclaimed Lady Potter, surprised in spite of herself. 

"I shall explain myself. Perhaps you did not overhear, when I was talking with your admirable secretary, but I run a dancing school for muggle children. It is not, I must say, a profitable business financially. I am forced to rent a church hall for lessons. The ceiling leaks, there is no central heating. It is indeed dismal! And yet, you are a very rich woman, Lady Potter. You earn, what, one hundred thousand galleons a year at the Department of Mysteries and possibly ten thousand as Minister for Magic. Not to mention Sir Harry Potter's seemingly inexaustible fortune. It would give me great pleasure, Lady Potter, if you could sponser my dancing school." 

Lady Potter took a deep breath and said quietly, "What is wrong with your own fortune from the Department of Mysteries, may I ask?" 

Miss Austen shrugged. "Perhaps I am extravagant. Or perhaps I merely fancy using your money, if you know what I mean." 

"No, I don't know what you mean. I'm afraid you will have to explain further. Sometimes I am a little stupid," said Lady Potter in a dangerously quiet voice. 

The visitor laughed. "Oh, you are a little stupid, are you? Well, I cannot really explain myself any better than I already have done without saying something I might regret. Perhaps you might understand a maths problem better. How about- your green snake plus my research equals... well, that's up to you, isn't it?" 

"You are _despicable_!" cried Lady Potter, trembling and pointing her wand. 

Miss Austen raised her eyebrows. "I would think twice before you jinx me, Lady Potter. Think what your secretary would say when he found a poor dancing teacher from Manchester lying cursed on the floor. Now that would be quite awkward for you, wouldn't it?" 

Slowly and regretfully, she lowered her wand, her eyes blazing with fury. "Miss Austen, I will not sponser your school!" 

"Oh? How uncharitable of you! I assure you, I am very sorry, although I expect _you_ will be even more sorry in the long term. Now, do excuse me, I have a pressing appointment with the _Daily Prophet_." 

She moved towards the door, but she found it blocked. "What do you want?" spat the Minister. 

"Ah, you're seeing sense. I rather thought you would." She appeared to consider for a second, then said, "How about one thousand galleons a month to start with? I am sure you can afford that! My vault number is 969. Good day to you." 

Lady Potter opened the door for her and said, her voice unsteady, "John- please show Miss Austen out." 

John Farrel leapt up from his desk and grinned broadly at Anastacia. "This way, dear Madam!" 

At the door to the outer office, Miss Austen paused, and turned back to smile at the Minister. "I shall make sure my fortunate pupils remember your generosity!" She left the room with a gay laugh. 


	11. X

**Author's Notes:**_ It has been four years since this was last updated. Lots of things have happened since then, most notably new canon in the shape of OotP, HBP and most recently DH. This makes this story **completely AU**. I would like to remind anyone who by some chance remembers this story, that the canon involved is the books up to GoF and the events of its prequel, The Unbreakable Link. Therefore: Sirius, Dumbledore and so forth are not dead, the prophecy was rather different, Harry and Hermione share the Unbreakable Link, Lily Potter is alive and Draco's son is called Nero not Scorpius. And of course, there are more differences. _

_Having said that, here is another chapter. I've got into writing again and I hope to at least continue with the story and preferably finally finish it. It's something I've wanted to write for many years. Cassandra, Nero and all the rest of the characters have haunted me for all of my teenage years and I don't want the story to die. And with no more ado, on with the chapter! _

_This chapter is dedicated to _Dauby_ who reviewed recently wondering when the story would be updated. It kickstarted me into action. It's so lovely to know there are still people reading!_

**CASSANDRA, or Memoires of an Heroine**

**Chapter 10**

_'Then did Aeneas, great hero, recognize his own mother's birds, and with joy he prayed: "O you be my guides if there is indeed some way!"'_  
- From 'The Aeneid' by Virgil, translated by W. F. Jackson Knight.

_ There was still at least an hour before dawn, yet Rowena was already awake. She dressed quickly and then tiptoed softly out of the villa, careful not to wake her father or any of the servants. _

_The morning was still dark and the fields were covered with dew. Nevertheless, Rowena knew the way. She crossed the fields, climbed the hill and hauled herself over the stone wall that separated her father's land from that of Simon Gryffindor. She landed in soft ground, wrenched her skirt away from an obstinate bramble shoot and then pushed her way through a rhodedendron bush to reach the path which took her down to the Gryffindor villa. _

_Their estate was also quiet; even the doorkeeper was asleep, as Rowena crept past him. Once inside the villa, she headed for where she knew Godric's room was, pushed aside the curtain across the door and went to stand beside his bed. He was fast asleep. Rowena, a thoroughly sensible young lady, wasted no longer than a few seconds in staring at him, then gave his shoulder a slight shake. _

_Godric breathed something that Rowena did not catch, and clutched the bed clothes tighter. She shook him harder. It had the desired effect. He sat up abruptly and glared at her. "What the-" he started, but Rowena quickly shoved her hand over his mouth. When he finally stopped making incoherent sounds and recognized her, she removed it. _

_"What on earth are _you_ doing here in the middle of the night, Rowena?" he whispered. "On the other hand," he continued, lying back down and raising his eyebrows, "maybe I don't want to know!" _

_"We have to leave here!" she exclaimed urgently. "And we have to leave _now_!" _

_"What are you talking about?" _

_"Remember how I said Slytherin was coming to supper last night? Guess what he came for?" _

_"He wanted to play a tibia duet with you?" suggested Godric. _

_"That's not funny! He wants to marry me." _

_"Doesn't everyone?" agreed Godric. _

_"Can't you take this seriously? Salazar actually __means_ to marry me. I talked atomic theory the whole time, and he answered me back! Then I ignored him, but he smiled all the same. Some people just don't know how to take a hint. I did everything in my power to dissuade my father from consenting, but he ignored me. Your cousin can be very persuasive. There's nothing to be done, Godric. We shall have to run away." 

_"Run away? But I've only just got home. Anyway, we Gryffindors are never ones to run away from our misfortunes. _Semper audax_- isn't that our motto?" _

_"It may be yours, Gordic," replied Rowena, "but it's not mine. I've never tried to be courageous. All I want is to teach children my new form of magic, but I see little chance of that happening if I am married to that greasy haired Greek!" _

_"Now, don't be nasty! Salazar's not a Greek- his great-grandfather was. Besides he's my cousin. Insult him and you-" _

_"Hush!" she interrupted him. "You don't know what you're saying. But we must leave. We must be far away from here by the time the sun is full in the sky. Godric," she whispered more loudly, her eyes sparkling, "we could go on a great journey round the Empire, and see all sorts of things, then come home married!" _

_Godric groaned, seeing she really meant to leave and sat up in bed. "Rowena, travelling damages money and eloping damages reputations. The Empire is not as strong as it was and it is no longer best to look to Rome, I think. It is with the barbarians, the Celts, with their strange customs that we must side. Rowena, are you sure you want to do this?" _

_She nodded eagerly and looked at him beseechingly. Godric took a quick look round the gloomy apartment and then returned his eyes to her. He smiled. "Come on then, Rowena. Let me get dressed. Have you everything you need?" _

_She almost clapped her hands in pleasure. "Yes, I have everything. I am perfectly prepared. What shall I do?" _

_He ran a hand through his hair as he thought. Finally he said, "Go to the kitchen, and quietly get us some food." _

_Nodding, she slipped out of the room while he dressed- and almost bumped into a figure standing outside the door. It was that of a tall, striking young woman, carrying a lamp and dressed in the plain white of a servant. She was striking in that her skin was completely pale, almost white, and her hair was so fair as to be almost the same colour. Her large eyes were a light grey. She was standing mute and perfectly still when Rowena drew back the curtain to Godric's bedroom. _

_The two young women stared at each other for a few seconds, then the servant said quietly, "I shall be discreet, Lady." _

_Rowena blushed. "Thank-you, Amanda." _

_She was going to pad away to the kitchen, when the curtain was drawn back and Godric stepped out, almost fully dressed. A look of surprise crossed his face. "Amanda, what are you doing?" _

_"I heard voices. I came to see who it was. I will not say anything, Sir." _

_Godric appeared to be thinking. Rowena watched him anxiously. She could almost see the wheels turning in his brain. Finally he said, "You're coming with us, Amanda. Get yourself ready; pack the minimum and then help Rowena in the kitchen. Be quiet." _

_For the first time, Amanda's expression changed. She looked shocked. "But, Sir! Lord Simon, Sir-! _

_Godric reached behind the curtain and drew out a small, leather bag. He reached into it and pulled out a few golden coins. He showed them to the others then placed them on a table just inside his bedroom. "You can come with us now without offending your conscience too much, Ama." He gave Rowena a wry grin and added, "Besides, I won't let my wife travel without a companion." _

_"Wife?!" cried both Rowena and Amanda at the same time. _

_"How else may we travel together?" _

_Rowena did not answer. She was blushing again. _

_Godric continued, "Amanda, Rowena and I intend to be married. We also intend to leave for the continent as soon as possible. Now, get your stuff ready. I'll see to the carriage." _

_Amanda and Rowena looked at each other, then Amanda indicated with her head the direction of the kitchen and they set off together, tip-toeing. _

_Godric put his hands on his hips and blew softly out, his eyebrows raised, as he watched his servant and his future bride disappear round a corner in the corridor. This was not what he had expected would happen on his return from Italy. Responsibilty hit him. Rowena had always been an impulsive girl. Was it right for him to run off with her, ruining her chances of a decent marriage? Was it right for her to abandon her father, who certainly would have greater difficulties managing his estate without her? Was it right for him to leave his own parents, who had done so much for him, and whom he loved? _

_Godric was not accustomed to reflecting on the intricacies of moral behaviour. Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he re-entered his bed chamber and started to plan for the journey. _

_He had some recent maps of Gaul, which would definitely come in handy. He also had the address of a good inn in Londinium. He packed a spare change of clothes, then reached under his bed for the very last item he would need. _

_He drew out an ornate sword scabbard. From that he pulled a most magnificent sword. It's blade was long and a shiny silver, and rubies encrusted the hilt (red always had been his favourite colour). He cut through the air with it, making a soft hissing noise. The blade gleamed a dull silver in the dark room, as Godric twisted and balanced it in his right hand. Just holding it gave him confidence. The sword almost felt part of him. _

_He had aquired it in a strange way. When he had been travelling in Italy, he had visited the bay of Neapolis in the south of the country and had stayed with a friend of his in a villa overlooking a nearby lake. One day, when the family was away from home, an old crone had visited. She was an ancient woman dressed all in black, and had carried a bundle wrapped in a torn grey cloth. She told him she possessed magic in a greater degree than anyone else in Italy. He had doubted it very much, but she was a stubborn woman and would not leave. _

_She then leaned forward, and said in a confidential voice, "I can show you the path to tread. I can be your guide where no other can follow. I can start you on your way." She took his hand, and gripping it tight said, "I am no Christian. I take higher orders." _

_This had pleased Godric, for he was not a Christian either and there were few left who followed the ancient gods. She then proceeded to unwrap her bundle and produced the great sword, that he now kept under his bed. "Take it," said the old woman. "It was made long ago in expectation of this day. I alone saw it forged. Take it, for one day you will lead all wizards in the greatest of enterprises. And you shall start it, and your descendant shall finish it. For I have seen many things." _

_And Godric had now begun to believe her for the sword already had his name inscribed on it. "What else have you seen?" he asked her. _

_But she would not tell and soon left him to ponder the meaning of her words. Now, he reflected on them a second time. Was it possible that this running away was the 'greatest of enterprises'? Was Rowena's wonderful, yet incredible idea of founding a wizard school to unite Roman wizards and Druids his destiny? The more he thought about it, as he strode through the grey light of early dawn to the carriage shed, the more he liked it. Swiping his sword at the lower leaves of an overhanging tree as he passed, he grinned. "To found a wizard school I go!" he chanted under his breath. _

_Within half an hour, two horses were attached to a light cart, and Godric, Rowena and Amanda were ready to set off. Casting a last look around walls of the sleeping villa, Godric swung himself up onto the front seat, helped Rowena up next to him, and made sure that Amanda was secure in the back of the cart. Then he took up the reins, gave them a shake and they were off. _

_Godric urged the horses into a canter, almost immediately, and they dashed along the drive way away from Godric's Hollow. Next to him, Rowena was clutching the side of the cart with one hand, as they careered round a bend, and her light blue cloak round her head, with the other. She had never gone so fast before in a carriage. _

_At the end of the drive, there was a choice of two directions. To the right was the track that led to the Ravenclaw estate and to the sea; the one to the left wound its way through lush countryside of southern Britannia, to the nearest town, and then to the wide world. Godric turned left. _

_It was several miles to the town, and nobody spoke. In the back of the cart, Amanda clutched the side and looked slightly sick. However, Rowena was having the time of her life. Every time Godric flung them round a corner in the track, she let out a joyful cry of laughter, and she continuously urged the horses on. Godric glanced at her out the corner of his eye, and smiled. However Rowena's plan turned out, he would not regret leaving with her. _

_It was lunch time when the big decision came. Should they turn east and head for Londoninium? Or was it better to keep on the north road to Eboracum? _

_"They will try to follow us," said Rowena, "and they will assume that we will go south, to take a crossing to Gaul. We should go north." _

_"There is nothing for us, in the north. Only the barrier of the Wall- then desolation. You would not put yourself into voluntary exile there," protested Godric. _

_"Exile?" exclaimed Rowena, in surprise. "Why exile?" _

_"We are eloping, Rowena. I'm afraid this is a one way path. Now that we have set this course, we may not turn back." _

_Rowena chewed her bottom lip and frowned. Then she said, "I will do whatever you say, Godric, as I have put myself willingly into your hands. But," she added stubbornly, "I still think we should go north." _

_Godric, who was hen-pecked before he was even a husband, shrugged his shoulders. "Then, my dear, we go north."_

* * *

Hufflepuff won the quidditch match. They said it was Cassandra Potter's fault; that she had been ill on the day. It was Xanthia who explained to the brow beaten seeker that their saying this was really rather complimentary, suggesting that Gryffindor would certainly have won, just because Cassandra had played.

Cassandra did not remain ill long. Thanks to Madam Pomfrey's excellent medicine she was out of the hospital wing within two days, and back in lessons the day after.

She found to her great joy that although Hufflepuff had won the quidditch game, Gryffindor was still in second place for the house cup, for Slytherin had lost fifty points, when Emilia Malfoy had recited a love sonnet to Professor Snape on Valentine's Day. Any sort of revenge on any member of the Malfoy family, gave Cassandra a vicious pleasure of the kind she had never before felt.

The weeks passed, the rain was swept away by a vigorous March wind and daffodils began to appear, clustered around the bases of the horse chestnut trees in the grounds. Winter was being blown away and spring was on its way.

Cassandra watched for any sign of Lord Voldemort's return and indeed anything that was out of the ordinary that could be connected with her giving the Stone to Nero Malfoy, but there was nothing. It was as if it had never happened. Sometimes, as she sat staring out at the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow, highlighted by a gleam of a watery golden sun during her History of Magic class, Cassandra wondered if she had not possibly imagined it all. And yet, she could still see the look of fear in his eyes after he had taken the Stone, she could hear the panic in her own voice, and she could feel his lips against her own... these were not things she could have dreamed of.

The fifteenth of March was Catherine Shortstraw's forty-seventh birthday. She, Cassandra, Xanthia, Edward, Jack and Jill and Bill who came up from Chester specially, had a picnic under a spreading horse chestnut tree in the grounds when afternoon lessons had finished. It was very jolly, and Xanthia and Cassandra had gone to the kitchens previously, and had made a delicious coffee and walnut cake with the house-elves.

Shortly after this, on the first of April, Cassandra herself turned fourteen, and received a prototype of the new Thunderbolt 5 broomstick from her father. (Even faster than the Nimbus Alpha 300, so they said.)

Then there were the Easter holidays which were spent as usual at Hogwarts, preparing for exams. She did very well in them, even though the sun shone seductively all the time. Edward did his NEWTs and when he had finished there was a tear in his mother's eye. Xanthia also had public examinations- her OWLs. She did them with the minimum ammount of fuss and said she thought they went all right.

Cassandra almost forgot about the Stone. There were more important things to worry about- pulling up her Experimental Charms grade from A to E, whether she should allow Catherine to enter her for a muggle GCSE in Ancient Greek or not, and the fact that her eyesight was improving and that one day she might not need to wear glasses at all! (At least, so the Occultician in Diagon Alley said.)

So ended Cassandra Potter's third year at Hogwarts.

For Nero Malfoy, it had been a hard term. After he had broken up with Joan in such a public way, he was aware that he had made a potential enemy in her. For, although Slytherins on the whole were heartless enough to find the entire episode really rather amusing, Joan came from a well established family (her mother had been a Flint) and Nero did not want to get on the wrong side of anyone so influential.

In addition to this, Emilia had discovered that it was he who was responsible for her love sonnet to Professor Snape (an excellent idea in his opinion, but lamentably not one she shared) and had spent the rest of the year taking revenge. Nero had been surprised at first by her determination, but soon grew to reluctantly admire her plans. Replacing his shaving cream with bubotuber pus was one of her more original (and painful) ideas.

I need hardly say that he too worried about the Stone. But like Cassandra, he could not think what its point was. He was very pleased to prove the annoying Potter girl wrong, in that her theory about Lord Voldemort returning was false. (He had never thought that it could have been true anyway, of course.) He kept it in its box under his pillow, guarded by dangerous protection spells, and about twice a week, when he was on his own, he would take it out and hold it in his hand, staring at it. It was very pretty to stare into, and Nero liked it very much. He was perceptive enough to realise that perhaps it had some kind of hold upon him, but as he did not seem to have changed in any way, and nothing bad had happened, he could not see what he was meant to do about it.

So, being the kind of boy who did not see why he should worry his head about things that did not appear terribly urgent, he put it out of his mind and concentrated on more pressing matters, such as passing his fourth year exams, terrorising Gryffindor first years and chatting up Esmerelda Robinson. (In fact, he was too scared to actually approach her, but he stared at her longingly from a distance, which was almost as good.)

And so ended Nero Malfoy's fourth year at Hogwarts.

* * *

Nero and Emilia Malfoy sat in silence in the back of the car as it speeded through the air on the way home from Kings' Cross. It was not a pleasant nor a companiable silence. Nevertheless, it is almost impossible to pass an entire journey without saying anything and eventually Emilia said, her voice dripping with resentment, "Lucy's coming to stay next week."

"Fantastic," replied Nero unenthusiastically, staring out of the window at the spires of Cambridge beneath them.

"I knew you'd be pleased." Then, seeing that her brother would not rise to the bait, she added, "I don't see why you hate her so much. You hate all my friends."

"Lucy Crabbe offends my aesthetic sensibilities. And all your friends are morons. Moron."

"Moron yourself. Anyway, I think Daddy hopes you'll hit it off."

This did make Nero face her. "Me and Lucy? Ew! _Ew!_ She's a troll! Why on earth would you think Father wants us to get together? That's disgusting."

"It is rather. The thought of my poor friend stuck with your ugly face... ow, Nero, lay off!" (for he had hit her) "I guess he's friends with Lucy's dad and they thought something might come of it. Same reason he set you up with Joan."

"He did _what_?"

Emilia smiled smugly. "Didn't you know? It was all arranged between our parents. Joan was told to seduce you in the hope of a family alliance."

Nero was stunned. "That explains so much," he muttered. "Of course they missed the crucial point which is that Joan is a deeply unattractive girl with no social skills and thus seduction was a bit of a chore for her." Outloud he said crossly, "I wish Father would let me chose my own girlfriends. It's a bit early to start arranging my marriage!"

"I think it's funny!"

Nero shot her a dark look and did not reply.

When they arrived at Malfoy Manor, Nero hurried into the house alone of his sister and ignored his father's request to see him in his study. He was too angry to see Draco and as he took the stairs two at a time he tried to think of any suitably impoverished, muggle born (and not bad looking) Hufflepuffs he could date out of spite. When he reached his room he shut and locked the door and flung himself onto his bed without bothering to remove his shoes. He stared up at the green canopy and thought about how much he hated his father.

This feeling of resentment had been growing for some time now; since his birthday that January, to be precise. Nero had always had much family loyalty; it was in his blood. The name Malfoy was something to be proud of. If their descent could not be traced exactly back to Salazar Slytherin himself then at least it was ancient, wealthy and prestigious. Nero's quarrel was not with the Malfoy name and what it stood for: it was all with his father. His father had never cared for him. He and Emilia were merely jewels in the Malfoy crown. Their duty was to grow up unquestioning clones and then make good marriages into an increasingly inbred circle of Slytherin purebloods. Emilia, Nero was sure, would have no problem with this. She was his father's favourite. He, Nero, had never shown sufficient enthusiasm to be close to his father. In fact, enthusiasm for _anything_ was not something that characterised Nero. He had never before bothered to resent his father's lack of affection or interest in him on a personal level. Paternal love had never been something he had desired or sought. Now, however, he resented its absense.

What right, thought Nero, did his father have to control him in this way? Nero really was not interested in marriage; he just wanted a girlfriend of his own choice. And anyway, he thought irrelevantly, just what kind of birthday present was a cursed box?

As his mind drifted to the box and the Stone, his hand found its way into an inner pocket of his robes and he withdrew the little octagonal box and opened it. The green diamond sat on the green silk as if it had been made to rest there (as in fact it had). It glittered very prettily. Nero held it up to the light. It really was very beautiful. He idly considered having it cut down and made into cuff links but some deep, instinctive part of him was revolted at the idea to such an extent he felt almost physically sick. Suddenly tired by his thoughts, he stood abruptly up and decided to visit his mother.

Mrs. Malfoy was one of the few people in the world whom Nero loved. Like Nero's own future marriage, hers had been arranged. Elise Dupont had been a shy and inexperienced girl just out of Beauxbatons when she had been married off to Draco Malfoy several years after Voldemort's downfall. Draco's father had been in Azbakan by that point and the Parkinsons had shied away, wanting to distance themselves from the disgraced family. With great dignity and determination, however, Narcissa Malfoy had started to re-establish the Malfoys in society and had for the first time in centuries looked abroad for a suitable family with whom to forge a connection. Elise made a perfect wife. She had admired her husband immensely with a schoolgirl's passion, was extremely biddable and far too indolent and spoiled to be interested if he appeared to have some rather undesirable and dark hobbies. She brought wealth, connections and social standing without any apparent disadvantages. She also bore him a son which was, after all, the principal point of the union.

These days, Elise spent her time in her boudoire eating the chocolates and admiring the gifts her husband bought her to flatter her into docility and silence. She missed her children when they were at school for they were a link to the outside world and she was genuinely fond of them, in her way.

Nero found his mother exactly where he had left her several months earlier: lying on a chaise longue by the window, reading a pink covered book and with a bowl of cherries dipped in dark chocolate on the table at her side. When she saw him she smiled sweetly and held out her hand to him. "Nero, cheri! I did not expect you back so soon. Was the journey pleasant?"

Nero took his mother's hand and sat down next to her. He gave a ironical grin. "Pleasant would be an overstatement. But I'm here now!"

"Yes, so you are, and I am very glad." His mother squeezed his hand and sighed, "Indeed it has been very dull for me these past weeks. I have been rereading my E. H. Green novels. Now you are here you must tell me everything however. How did your exams go?"

For the next ten minutes Nero told his mother in great detail the mark breakdown of every single one of his papers and how they stood him for his OWLs the following year. If Elise was bored she concealed it very well.

"Well, cheri, you seem to be doing very well. I am very proud of you. My dutiful boy. Come, kiss me." Nero obliged and his mother smoothed his hair away from his face. "You look tired, cheri. Has it been a long term?"

Nero thought of all the worry about the Stone, of his running antagonism with his sister and of Cassandra Potter and felt weary. "It's been a long _year_, Mother."

"Why don't you tell me about it, hein?"

For a long time Nero did not say anything. He could hardly tell his mother everything. There was no need for her to know how he purposefully disobeyed his father in opening the box. Nor would she appreciate knowing how much the memory of the anger and hurt in Cassandra Potter's green eyes haunted him, how he felt stupidly sorry for her and how much he hated her for it. There were some things a teenage boy did not tell his mother.

Nevertheless, he did tell her a little about the Stone and it was a relief. He told her about how the mysterious Voice had forced him to acquire it and how he had found it (missing Cassandra out entirely). He told her how it had mesmerized him when he did get it and how he was afraid it had some kind of hold over him.

Elise listened quietly and when she was quite sure he had finished speaking said, "That is quite a story, n'est-ce pas? Of course it will bother you. But why do you not speak to your father about it? He would know what to do." She spoke with the complacency of someone who rarely thought for herself.

"He might disapprove," Nero replied lamely who could only guess how much his father certainly would disapprove.

"Not necessarily. You should try him, cheri; you would feel more comfortable in your mind if you knew what was going on."

This was certainly true, but Nero only shook his head. No chance.

* * *

The Boss did not appreciate being disturbed. Being head of the Department of Mysteries involved a great deal more paperwork than investigation and the Boss rarely had time to catch up on the many memos that landed every day on her desk. The message from Dea Prejudice that she had something of particular importance to communicate, however, could not be ignored. Hearing the knock on her door, she put the latest letter from her equivalent in Croatian magical intelligence inside a folder and pulled her cloak further over her face, to hide her identity, as it had to be concealed even from the highest in her ranks.

"Come in!"

Dea Prejudice entered and sat down in front of the Boss' desk, full of restrained excitement.

"Well?" said the Boss. "What did you want to see me about, Prejudice?"

Dea Prejudice did not waste any time with pleasantries. "I have found Voldemort's heir."

If she had expected the Boss to jump up or exclaim in some way at the news then she was destined to be mistaken. The response she got was an, "Oh, have you now?" spoken in the tone of voice she might use if Prejudice had announced that she was saving up to buy a retirement villa on the Costa del Sol and was looking forward to getting a tan. "I was not aware that was your remit, Prejudice. Aren't you meant to be tracking down the Dolohovs?"

"The Dolohovs are in South America, have been for the past ten years," said Prejudice dismissively. How could the Boss care about the fate of a few renegade Death Eaters when she had news this big? Don't you want to know who it is?"

"'You want to tell me and I have no objection to hearing it'" said the Boss. Dea Prejudice, who could not see her face was thus denied the sight of her superior's smirk, which was probably a good thing as she did not recognize the quotation.

"You will never believe it!"

"Try me," said the Boss cooly.

"Lady Hermione Potter," said Prejudice triumphantly, convinced that the revelation would provoke some reaction.

There was a short pause then the Boss said quietly, "Are you saying that our muggle born, Gryffindor educated Minister of Magic is in fact heir to the Dark Lord whom she personally vanquished along with her husband? Sounds a bit far fetched to me. Do you have any proof? Any at all to back up your frankly treasonable allegations?"

Prejudice flushed. "Oh, I have proof all right. How about her Conjuncta charm necklace with Slytherin's snake on it? How about the fact that she denied none of the allegations when I put it to her?"

This did seem to ruffle the Boss. "You spoke to her? You told her your suspicions? And she did not have you arrested?"

"Certainly not. She was most... ah... anxious for me to remain silent on the matter. Really, ma'am, you do not seem aware of the potential traitor you favour so much in Domina Eowyn."

"Do I not?" replied the Boss with more heat. "Cease, Prejudice! Your jealousy of Eoywn, for I perceive you have discovered that identity as well, has carried you too far this time. These are very serious and ruinous accusations you would make against one of my staff."

"Do you not accept my evidence, my clear and incontrovertible evidence?"

"Certainly not," snapped the Boss. "Your evidence can be easily overturned. A green snake on a necklace is proof of nothing. The Minister's silence on the subject is perfectly understandable considering that such a scandal would ruin her whether it is true or false. Did you actually ask her straight out, "Are you the heir of Voldemort?" because that would have been foolishness beyond belief."

"No, not straight out, but-"

"You are guilty of gross professional misconduct, Prejudice. I find myself compelled to relieve you of some of your duties."

Dea Prejudice opened her mouth to protest but the Boss held up a quelling hand. "You will return to the Department on Monday morning and not before when your new position as a Domina will be explained to you. You will find your salary suitably reduced. And you will find yourself unable to remember anything salient about your life as a Dea."

"I would have thought," said Prejudice coldly, "that you would sack me, since you are so displeased."

"Members of the Department of Mysteries do not simply "leave"," said the Boss softly. "You will remain and do as you are told, Prejudice. You are dismissed." The Boss payed Prejudice no more attention but the door opposite swung open and Prejudice knew that the interview was at an end.

Once in the corridor outside, the newly demoted Domina Prejudice leaned against the wall and tried to control her anger. How _dare_ the Boss dismiss her like that? How dare the leader of England's most important secret intelligence network not even listen to what she had to say? Or did Lady Potter quite literally have the nation under a spell? It seemed increasingly likely. And for all that the Boss refused to listen, she did have proof of her charges. After all, thought Prejudice, consenting to being blackmailed was a pretty sure sign of guilt. All this time, she thought, all this time and Lady Potter was quite possibly evil and plotting to take over the world! Well. She felt the Boss' betrayal keenly.

Domina Prejudice pushed off from the wall and made her way out of the building. She knew exactly what she would do. She was not a first class spy for nothing. Had she not spent the past eight years of her life working to infiltrate and destroy the Death Eaters left over from Voldemort's old cohort? If the Boss stupidly did not care about finding out who Voldemort's heir was then she knew who would be very interested indeed in what she could reveal.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** _The quotation the Boss uses comes from Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice

_Hopefully the next chapter should be up quicker than this one was. ;) Reviews would be absolutely charming and would make my day but I write for myself so I shall not be _too_ disappointed if I don't get any! _

_You will notice that I have "revealed" who Lady Potter is here. To be honest, concealing it was utterly pointless. When I first started writing the story, I thought that everyone would guess the entire plot if they knew who she was. That was a total mistake but for many chapters I couldn't think of getting out of the mess without it being an anticlimax. Anyway, now you know:) _

_Silvestria_


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